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IMPRESSIONS 



EARLY KANSAS 



Br 

ELIZA JOHNSTON WIGGIN 



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Y a 



Copyrighted 
December, 1915 



DEC 21 1915 



•CI.A418137 



To my sainted mother — and the other 
unsung but heroic women who in the 
midst of discouragement and bitter trial 
builded their homes on the sunlit prairies 
of territorial Kansas, this little book is 
lovingly inscribed. 



And they found fat pasture and good, 
and the land was wide, and quiet, and 
peaceable. — Bible. 



Chapter The First 

OLD WAVERLEY 

As I sit by the western window and the brief 
winter afternoon draws toward its close, my 
mind turns back to dear old Waverley. Outside 
the wind is rising and the waning day shows 
gray and chill, but far away I see visions of a 
fair, deep blue sky, gemmed with fleecy floating 
clouds. Instead of deep snows and ice bound 
streams, are wide expanses of green fields, velvet 
carpeted, and sown thickly with johnny-jump- 
ups and dainty strawberry blossoms. Away over 
the far wooded hills, distance lends enchantment 
to the purplish haze that rests forever above the 
winding river; while around all is spread the 
fairest country that ever gladdened the eyes and 
hearts of men, — the beautiful prairies of Kansas. 

Among the many towns and embryo cities 
that sprang up as it were by magic on the open- 
ing of the territory in eighteen fifty-five, was 
my own dear town of Waverley. This ambitious 
little county seat was laicf 'out in true generous 
Western fashion over a square mile or so of 
charming hill and dale, its modest frame houses, 
many of them built of the native black walnut, 
separated by wide stretches of greenest verdure. 
Here and there the streets led over picturesque 
wooden bridges, for from the hilly eastern border 
to the noble plateau that formed the western 
boundary, there was a succession of hills and hol- 
lows, varied by deep, winding ravines, each of 
which prisoned a brawling, pigmy torrent during 
the winter thaws and the spring rains. 

Crowning the brow of the eastern hill, was 
the Woodson Hotel, a many windowed frame 
building of two stories, looking south. In front 
was a wide veranda from whose pleasant shelter 
the wayfarer could overlook the little city and 
the broad wagon road with its traffic and bustle, 
varied now and then by slow moving ox teams, 
or long lines of canvas covered wagons of the 
countless home seekers. These wagons were 
filled with furniture and bedding, weary women 
and sunburnt children. Sometimes a stove pipe 
protruded through an opening in the canvas 
telling of an attempt at warmth and comfort 
when the prairie winds blew cold. Buckets and 
pails dangled underneath and the faithful dog 



6 IMPRESSIONS OF 

plodded along behind. Often there were cattle 
and horses driven by shouting men on horse back, 
well booted and spurred, while boys of all ages, 
usually barefooted and shaggy of hair, closed the 
familiar and never-ending procession. 

Occasionally we would see a sturdy sunbon- 
neted girl of twelve or fourteen trudging along, 
stick in hand, driving the family cows, and 
many curious glances were exchanged between us. 
It would be interesting to know how many of the 
first families of Kansas had thus passed through 
the streets of old Waverley to their waiting home- 
steads further west. 

The great event of the day was the arrival of 
the stage coach from the East. Announced half 
a mile away by a prolonged blast of the 
horn, this lumbering vehicle, drawn by four 
horses, would dash up to the hotel with a 
last grand effort of the tired beasts and a pro- 
digious cracking of whips. The hotel loungers 
were always in their places to take close note of 
the passengers as they emerged from their 
cramped quarters, — bearded men in queer high 
hats and long-tailed coats, ladies in deep round 
bonnets, shawls, and enormous hoopskirts, all 
tired and travel-stained and glad indeed of the 
hospitable hotel with its promise of rest and re- 
freshment. 

Across the alley was the great hotel stable, 
where the stage horses were cared for and a 
general livery business carried on. The stable 
yard was crowded with vehicles of various kinds 
and full of bustle and fun, the lazy negro hostlers 
often stopping their work to listen to the jolly 
stage drivers and their stirring news from 
beyond the big river. 

Mrs. Woodson, the landlady, was an active, 
handsome woman in the prime of life. Indeed 
she looked very young to be the mother of the 
quartette of young lady daughters whose willing 
hands lightened her labors, and whose bright 
eyes were the magnets that drew to the hotel 
many of the bachelors who had come west to seek 
their fortunes and to lose their hearts. Theirs 
was the first hotel in Waverley, and tradition has 
handed down some all too scanty accounts of the 
gay doings within its walls. Mrs. Woodson, in 
addition to her duties as landlady, took an active 
part in all the various enterprises of the little 
city, and so impartial was she that whether the 



EARLY KANSAS 7 

event were a dance among the gayest of the gay, 
or a solemn prayer meeting for the most devout, 
it could not be properly launched and carried 
through without her presence and assistance. 

In early times, a company of United States 
soldiers was stationed at Waverley. The captain 
and other officers were guests of the hotel, and 
as the first of a series of social functions in their 
honor, Mrs. Woodson and her daughters de- 
cided to give a grand ball, which was to be the 
finest event in the history of the place, if not of 
the territory. A large number of guests were in- 
vited and little else was thought of or talked of 
among the beaux and belles but the ball and the 
delightful preparations for its full enjoyment. 
The long looked for night came at last, bright 
starlight but intensely cold. The merry jingle of 
sleighbells over the snowy streets announced the 
arrival of gay parties, who came from all direc- 
tions, and by nine o'clock the parlors, halls and 
barroom were crowded with the beauty and gal- 
lantry of half the county. The officers, re- 
splendent in their new uniforms, were, as usual, 
irresistible to the gentler sex, and the envy and 
despair of less fortunate men. All the stores in 
town had been ransacked to furnish suitable finery 
for the event. Among other articles there was 
an unprecedented demand for shoe blacking, and 
the supply, unfortunately, was soon exhausted. 
Frank Hammond, one of the society lions, hurry- 
ing into town toward night, was unable to obtain 
a box for either love or money. He stared at his 
muddy feet in despair, while visions of the fault- 
lessly attired officers, capering before the admir- 
ing gaze of his sweetheart, flashed into his mind's 
eye. Something must be done. At last, driven 
by desperation, he made his way to the rear of 
the hotel, where at the sight of the big black 
range, he was seized with a sudden flash of in- 
spiration, and slyly ignoring the dark frown of 
the negro cook, he finally succeeded in blacking 
his high-heeled boots from the bottom of a kitchen 
stove lid, after which he entered the ball room 
in triumph and found the dancers just taking 
their places for the first quadrille. The rooms 
were brilliantly lighted, and presented a most de- 
lightful picture, while gay laughter and merry 
repartee were heard on every hand. The ladies 
were sparkling and most attractive in their gay 
plaid and flowered silks, mousseline de laines 



8 IMPRESSIONS OF 

and soft challis. One challis gown worn on that 
occasion has been handed down and is still 
cherished for its exceeding beauty, — a dark, rich 
maroon ground, covered thicklj^ with lovely 
flowers and figures in nearly every tint, from 
ivory white on through the vv^hole gamut of color, 
all so cleverly blended that the effect was that 
of restful beauty and harmony — a perfect 
symphony in color. The skirt was made very full 
and the waist was very close fitting with puffs 
on the shoulders. This gown was worn by Mrs. 
Hamilton, who was a fair-complexioned Kentucky 
woman with black hair and velvety black eyes; 
and with it phe wore a wide collar of the finest 
embroidery, fastened in front with a large gold 
brooch. 

The music for the dance was furnished by that 
prince of pioneer fiddlers, Mark Conway, who 
was a host in himself, and the dance went on and 
joy was unconfined until after midnight, when all 
were invited to the dining room to partake of a 
sumptuous supper, prepared by the indefatigable 
hands of Mrs. Woodson, assisted by Aunt Mellie 
and Aunt Sophy, two noted negro cooks. 

The note of tragedy, however, came very near 
to intruding on this joyful occasion. Mrs, Brooks 
had brought with her her baby daughter, Mary, 
whom she hushed to sleep, and then laid carefully 
on the large bed in one of the ladies' dressing- 
rooms upstairs. Mrs. Brooks w^as very gay and 
witty, and a general favorite, and she danced 
every quadrille until nearly midnight, when she 
ran upstairs to look after her baby. Imagine her 
horror to find her darling buried beneath a pile 
of shawls and furs and gasping for breath. One 
after another of the laughing, hurrying groups 
had thrown off their wraps, not noticing the 
sleeping babv, whose mother rescued her not a 
minute too soon. All in all, however, the ball 
was voted a glorious success, for in addition to 
the dashing officers, there were plenty of other 
beaux and of a good sort, too — young doctors, 
farmers, lawyers, merchants, some of them grad- 
uates of eastern and southern collefres; and so 
there v/ere very few wall flowers or other forlorn 
damsels in those good old days in Kansas Terri- 
tory. 

* * * * 

Waverley, which was founded in the middle 
fifties, was laid out in the beautiful old-fashion 



EARLY KANSAS 9 

around a grassy square, vacant then, but 
destined to contain later the County Court 
House. On the streets north and west were 
two hotels, half a dozen stores, a saloon or two, 
and a blacksmith shop, alternating with modest 
frame dwellings and vacant lots. Here one bitter 
winter day, when Waverley was only a few years 
old, came the great Abraham Lincoln to address 
the people on the momentous issues of the hour. 
An old-time newspaper correspondent thus de- 
scribes the scene: "The weather was intensely 
cold. The sweeping prairie wind rocked the crazy 
building, and cut the faces of the travelers like a 
knife. Not more than fifty people assembled in 
that little bare-walled Court House. There was" 
none of the magnetism of the multitude to inspire 
the long, angular, ungraceful orator, who rose 
up behind a rough table. With little gesticula- 
tion, and that little ungraceful, he began, not to 
declaim, but to talk. His fairness and candor 
were very noticeable. He ridiculed nothing, 
burlesqued nothing, misrepresented nothing. His 
anecdotes were felicitous and illustrative. He 
was too kind for bitterness and too great for 
vituperation. The address lasted an hour and 
three-quarters. Neither rhetorical, graceful nor 
eloquent, it was still very facinating. The people 
of the frontier believed profoundly in fair 
play and in hearing both sides, so they now called 
for an aged Kentuckian, who was the heaviest 
slave holder in the territory. Responding, he thus 
prefaced his remarks: *I have heard during my 
life all the ablest public speakers, all the eminent 
statesmen of the past and present generations; 
and while I dissent utterly from the doctrines of 
this address, and shall endeavor to refute some 
of them, candor compels me to say that it is the 
most able, the most logical speech I ever listened 
to'." Tradition also says that after the meeting 
Mr. Lincoln visited all the stores in a vain search 
for a pair of Arctic overshoes but could find none 
large enough. 

So spoke in the little frame court house to a 
handful of shivering people, the man who, within 
a very few years, was to sweep at the head of a 
new party into victorious possession of the 
policies of the country. Noble-hearted Lincoln! 
Waverley hearts yet thrill with pride at the mem- 
ory of his brief visit. 



10 IMPRESSIONS OF 

The "aged Kentuckian" who replied to Lincoln, 
was not a Kentuckian as it happened, but a native 
of Virginia. Colonel Francis Carroll, on the open- 
ing of the territory, left his southern home and set- 
tled with his family and a number of negro slaves 
on the Kansas prairie. Here he bought large 
tracts of land and soon became one of the best 
known of the pioneers. He was a man of com- 
manding appearance, well educated, of ample 
means, who brought west with him all the in- 
herited traditions of the Southern aristocrat 
and his home, merry with the voices of children, 
and presided over by his charming and cultivated 
wife, was known as the abode of good cheer and 
princely hospitality. The gallant Colonel was a 
familiar sight to all the settlers for miles around. 
Tall and erect, and a born horseman, he sat his 
mount like a Centaur, and was usually accom- 
panied by a negro slave whose duty was to open 
the gates and look after his master's dogs and 
hounds, whose pedigrees and fine points the 
Colonel never wearied of discussing. He was, of 
course, an excellent shot, and in the stormy days 
before the war always went armed, his skill with 
the pistol giving rise to marvelous stories, for 
his nerves were like steel and the glance of his 
proud eye majestic as that of the eagle. I re- 
member him well, as they were near neighbors. 
The eldest daughter, Hester, to whom I looked 
up as a being altogether superior, was much away 
from home, at school in Maryland or Virginia, 
but her younger sister, Grace, was my great friend 
and many happy hours we played together with 
sticks of wood dressed as dolls. The Colonel al- 
ways called me his "little sweetheart," whereupon 
I stopped my play and ran like a deer for home, 
for I was terribly afraid of him and very fond of 
him at the same time. 

I recently listened to an old negro who in her 
youth had been one of his slaves, as in reminiscent 
mood she recalled the happenings of the stirring 
times before the war. He often in the fall gave 
delightful hunting parties lasting several days. 
On these occasions he and his guests would rise 
at dawn and after a hurried breakfast gallop 
away in the glorious October air exilarating as 
wine, as with horses and deep-mouthed hounds 
and winding horn they scoured the beautiful 
prairies and timbered streams in true hunter's 
style. Not till night-fall did they return, the 



EARLY KANSAS 11 

negro boys laden with game which provided a 
sumptuous dinner, while the adventures and mis- 
haps of the day's sport were recounted with jest 
and merriment around the well-filled table. Many 
a generous hamper was sent to his neighbors, 
while the sick and unfortunate were not forgotten. 
And now lest my pages seem to bristle overmuch 
with military titles, let me say that only when 
these were really used have I employed them. 
Ancient Waverley, among other courteous old- 
time delights, was rich in titled citizens, having 
a generous supply of "squires" and judges, an 
occasional captain by way of variety, and at least 
one colonel for every hundred or so of her popu- 
lation. 

Another charming custom of Colonel Carroll's 
was to entertain, every session of court, the dis- 
trict judge and the resident and visiting members 
of the bar, and these delightful dinners are re- 
called with pleasure by all who partook of his 
generous hospitality. He was a staunch Episco- 
palian and a typical southern gentleman of the 
old school. One time Colonel Hamilton, a friend 
and brother lawyer, was spending Sunday even- 
ing at the Carroll home. The conversation had 
wandered from horses and dogs and famous hunt- 
ing parties to the realm of politics and state 
craft. Colonel Carroll had been fortunate in 
knowing many men distinguished in public life, 
and the wood fire burned low and the time flew 
fast as in his usual happy vein he discussed men 
and events, both past and present. At a late hour 
the visitor arose to take his leave, but was recalled 
by the Colonel who, to the surprise of his guest, 
took from its shelf his large print book of com- 
mon prayer and insisted on reading before they 
separated, the psalter and appropriate prayers 
for the day. A little thing, perhaps, but it showed 
a side of his nature which he reserved only for 
his nearest friends and hid from the unsympa- 
thetic world about him. Colonel Carroll was a 
true gentleman. Always deferential to women 
of whatever age or station, brave and high- 
spirited to a fault almost, he was one of those 
rare men who bring to mind thoughts of the 
crusaders and the noble knights of old, and with 
them a half sigh that the days of romance and 
chivalry are no more. As was said of them, so 
may the hope be breathed of him and his com- 
panions — 



12 IMPRESSIONS OF 

"The knights are dust, 

Their good words rust, — 

Their souls are with the saints we trust." 



The shabby old court house in which Lincoln 
spoke stood on the street north of the square. 
When the new court house was built early in the 
sixties the old building was enlarged, a story or 
two added, and it was transformed into a hotel 
called the Irving House, and as such it did duty 
for many years. Mr. and Mrs. Irving were 
Yankees from far away Martha's vineyard. He, 
big of body and of a genial disposition, was a 
general favorite; she was a frail little shadow of 
a woman who, some predicted when she first 
made her appearance in Waverley, would not live 
six months, but these false prophets little knew 
the courage and Spartan endurance hidden in 
that tiny frame. They soon had their hotel in 
apple pie order and generations of guests have 
come and gone and testified to its excellence. 
Not content with the onerous duties of landlady, 
Mrs. Irving became very prominent in the social 
life of Waverley, and few winters of her long 
residence passed without parties, balls, oyster 
suppers and various entertainments that won for 
her the reputation of a delightful hostess. 

Among the employees of the hotel I remember 
well a queer, gray-moustached old Frenchman 
named Pierre Lameroux. Pierre's duties were 
many and varied. He bought the food, shoveled 
snow, raked the yard at the side and back, cleaned 
the office and halls and kept up the bright wood 
fires in the dining room, office and parlors, up- 
stairs and down. For many years he was a fa- 
miliar figure to us school children as, market 
basket under his arm and puffing at his faithful 
pipe, he meandered to and from the grocery 
stores and meat market, speaking to none except 
on business. 

Unlike the City Hotel, the Irving House never 
rang a dinner bell, but three times a day, with 
unfailing regularity, Pierre would issue from the 
front door, gong in hand, and with deafening 
clamor and a look of vast importance, rouse the 
slumbering echoes of the quiet street with the 
cheerful announcement that another meal was 
ready, while from office, store and workshop, 
and from the court house across the street, has- 



EARLY KANSAS 13 

tened the hungry guests to the well spread table 
in the large, pleasant dining room. 
* * * * 

Early Waverley was fortunate in hotels. On 
the west side of the square was still another called 
The City Hotel, a tall brown house with sharp 
pointed gable windows in the attic over the second 
story. The landlord was Mr. Jerry Brown, a 
quiet old gentleman whom we always called 
"Uncle Jerry." He often had candy in his pockets 
for us and he never forgot us at Christmas. He 
gave little Lizzie Hamilton a beautiful china doll, 
winning thereby her lasting love and gratitude. 
"What shall I name it?" asked the little five-year 
old. "Hattie," replied her father. Lizzie then 
appealed to her mother, for surely such a beauti- 
ful doll, like a roj^al infant, deserved a variety of 
names. In a spirit of fun, Mrs. Hamilton sug- 
gested "Melissa,"' and so the precious doll was 
christened, and "Hattie Melissa," with her clear 
blue eyes and rosebud mouth, became a cherished 
member of the family. Never was a doll more 
beloved, but in course of time accident finally 
demolished her, though her name and memory, 
with that of her little gray and brov/n frocks so 
exquisitely fashioned bj^ loving hands, still sur- 
vive, and with them grateful thoughts of the 
gentle-hearted old man who never forgot the 
children. 

"Aunt Susan," as we called Mrs. Brown, was 
a rather grim looking woman, dark and some- 
what stern, though kind, too, in her way. She said 
little but looked diligently to the ways of her 
household and was a terror to evil doers. Her 
cook for many months was a sort of character, 
an illiterate Irish girl, who had drifted into 
Waverley from some unknown place and worked 
in nearly every house in town. This poor crea- 
ture was the object of much ridicule, possessed 
an insane temper and was sadly addicted to the 
use of bad language. Being frightened out of 
the big hotel kitchen one afternoon by her vio- 
lence vented on the offending supper fire, we re- 
peated to Aunt Susan some of the very pic- 
turesque expressions we had heard. To our sur- 
prise, however, she made some faint excuses for 
Martha, saying among other things that she had 
no mother when she was young to "slap her face" 
and tell her such talk was wrong. 

We thought the hotel parlor was very fine 



14 IMPRESSIONS OF 

with its dark red two-ply carpet and walnut 
"whatnot" in the corner, crowded with a collec- 
tion of the most interesting articles, mostly of 
china and plaster, entirely too fragile for us to 
handle. Best of all were several large, beautiful 
shells, in which we could distinctly hear the mur- 
muring of the great, wonderful ocean, which we 
had heard of but never expected to see. The two 
tall windows, side by side, looking across the 
busy street to the Court House Square, had 
beautiful full lace curtains, a last touch of elegance 
not very common then in Waverley. The chairs 
set primly against the wall, were of black walnut 
with cane seats, and a cheerful wood fire blazed 
and snapped in the handsome polished stove. 

From the bar-room across the hall (though 
there was no bar) , came sounds of laughter and 
debate, but we well know that was no place for 
little girls, and never ventured in there except 
sometimes for a few minutes with father, as he 
stopped on his way home from church or prayer- 
meeting, for he and Uncle Jerry were great 
friends. 

But after all, the best place was the big, cheer- 
ful dining room into which bar-room, parlor and 
hall all opened. Here the long table with its shin- 
ing glassware and its massive silver plated 
casters looked very attractive indeed, and surely 
there never were anywhere else such delightful 
suppers as here — such flaky biscuit, such mince 
pie, and above all, such savory beefsteak. Aunt 
Susan possessed in utmost perfection the mystic 
art of seasoning, and no high salaried chef since 
then has ever surpassed the delicacies she served to 
us. We did not eat there often, however, so that 
each visit became a delightful memory. After 
several years these good old people moved away 
and the hotel passed into strange hands. Once, 
years after, under the new regime, our Sunday 
School class, which gathered each week at one of 
the homes to do fancy work, met in the old hotel, 
where to my surprise we were ushered upstairs 
into a spacious, well-furnished parlor of whose 
existence I had never known, and I marveled 
greatly while diligently crocheting a sofa tidy that 
was never finished, that we had missed the ex- 
ploring of this pleasant room in the time of Uncle 
Jerry and Aunt Susan. 

As time wore on the business continued to move 
away from the eastern hill and concentrate 



EARLY KANSAS 15 

around the square, the pioneer hotel, the Woodson 
House, was finally closed to the public. But if 
its old walls could only have spoken, what tales 
they might have told, not alone of brave-hearted 
pioneers and anxious, loving women, but of youth 
and high spirits, of dance and revelry and 
Christmas gaiety, of the happy voices of little 
children, and at the last of the chill silence of 
death. Once when Lizzie Hamilton was very 
small she went to school in one of the upper 
rooms for a few days. The little tots, most of 
whom lived in two or three small rooms, all on 
the ground floor, stared about them with wide 
eyes as they marched up to the stately stairway 
and through the long hall, quite awe-struck by 
the unaccustomed distances and the many rooms 
on each side opening to their curious view. Bit- 
terly cold these rooms were, too, when the pierc- 
ing winter winds, sweeping over the wide prairies, 
held high carnival among the gables and chim- 
neys and rattling casements. Only a few of them 
had fires, and Susie and Ellen Woodson who did 
the upstairs work, were obliged to wear thick 
woolen mittens to protect their numbed fingers as 
they hurried through their chilly task. 

While my early impressions of these ancient 
hostelries are principally those of jollity and 
hospitable good cheer, it is nevertheless true that 
with them also is connected my first acquaint- 
ance with the sadness of death. I must have been 
about four years old when Mrs. Irving's only 
daughter sickened and died, I can just remem- 
ber stealing softly with a group of bright-faced 
school girls into the darkened parlor to gaze for 
the first time upon the mystery of death. The 
child, Lizzie, a beautiful and universally beloved 
girl of fourteen, lay as if asleep in her dainty 
silken bed. It was winter and of course there 
were no flowers, but kind-hearted Malvina Field 
had placed a large cluster of artificial blossoms 
within the waxen fingers. Hushed and awe- 
struck, we remained only a few minutes, but for 
weeks the memory of that lovely, silent face 
haunted my thoughts. Thus it came to pass that 
even my first impressions of death in old Waver- 
ley were closely associated with a sad and sacred 
beauty that time has never effaced. 

The first funeral I remember was also con- 
nected with a hotel, the pioneer Woodson House, 
After eight or nine years of busy, useful life as 



16 IMPRESSIONS OF 

landladj^ Mrs. Vv'oodson, still a young woman as 
years go, was stricken with a fatal illness. A 
wondering child of tender years, I can still dimly 
recall the throng of sad-faced mourners, the sol- 
emn hushed silence broken frequently by stifled 
sobs, and the mysterious casket in the center of 
the large dining room. Here where she had so 
often been the life and inspiration of busy activi- 
ties and gay festivals, the last sad rites were held, 
and from its shelter they bore her body to its final 
resting place in the distant windswept cemetery. 

The Woodson girls had by this time gone to 
homes of their own, and after one or two years 
the still sturdy old pioneer was forced to yield its 
place to its down-town rivals. It had been oc- 
cupied for some time by a number of different 
families when it was burned to the ground one 
freezing January day. Not a trace of it re- 
mains, — not a vestige of the old stable yard, 
where, in the busy bustling days before the war, 
loungers and hostlers, soldiers and truant school- 
boys, discussed the events of the hour, and swapped 
horses or jacknives. The beautiful bluegrass has 
long since carpeted with velvet verdure the 
scars of foundations and cellars, and pleasant 
homes with their green lawns and waving trees 
now occupy the sites of those early buildings 
which served w^Il their day and generation and 
with them are no more. 

The two down-town hotels were rivals, too, 
but in a very quiet and peaceable way. The 
Methodists and their friends were staunchly 
loyal to the City Hotel, as Uncle Jerry was one 
of their number; while the Presbyterians, whom 
some suspected of being too aristocratic in feel- 
ing, adhered to the Irving House for similar rea- 
sons. Indeed, those early day hotels of old 
Waverley were very fascinating places, and their 
story, if it could be told in full, would include 
almost all of the history of the little community, 
so identified is a hotel in a "greene country towne" 
with the public and private life around it. 



EARLY KANSAS 17 

Chapter The Second 

A SMALL JAYHAWKER 

Many of the homes in Waveiiey were set back 
from the street in large grounds, which added 
greatly to their beauty and charm, especially 
when the trees which the first settlers had dili- 
gently planted, had grown large enough to cast 
a delightful shade. Many of the trees were 
transplanted from the banks of the Elkhorn, a 
winding picturesque creek a mile or more away. 
The more pretentious homes had white "picket" 
fences all around their grounds. Others had 
the pickets only in front, while ordinary four or 
five board fences enclosed the sides and rear. 
The barbwire abomination was, happily, entirely 
unknown. 

The square in the center of the town was a 
level, grassy quadrangle, and here early in the 
sixties was built a fine brick court house, two 
stories high, with the stairway on the outside. A 
wide hall ran through the center of each floor, on 
one side of which downstairs were several offices, 
while on the other were the gloomy cells of 
the county jail, three or four in number, with 
high grated openings through which the prisoners 
could just manage to peer into the corridor, which 
was used as a sort of thoroughfare from one 
street to the other. 

Colonel Hamilton's law office was in the court 
house and here the little runaway, Lizzie, vv'ould 
often put in her appearance, sometimes arrayed 
faultlessly in a spick-and-span pink and white 
calico frock, but often barefooted and generally 
disheveled, her detested sunbonnet in one hand 
and her little round comb in the other, having 
slipped away unobserved from her busy mother. 
Lizzie and the poor prisoners in those mysterious 
cells were very good friends. She was vaguely 
aware that there was something amiss about 
them, but when on her quiet entrance they called 
out a cheery welcome, she would edge shyly up 
to the high gratings and listen intently to their 
compliments and answer their questions with the 
best grace she could muster. For them, doubt- 
less, the child's coming helped to break the 
monotony of their long, dull day, and they often 
gave her some little trifle, a picture card, a top 
or some other toy whittled out with considerable 



18 IMPRESSIONS OF 

skill in their all too many leisure moments. As 
for Lizzie, she was charmed with these treasures, 
and when her father, finding her loitering in the 
hall, would sharply send her home, she would run 
swiftly away to show her mother the "present" 
held tightly in her litle pink palm. Mrs. Hamil- 
ton, divided between horror and amusement, 
frequently remonstrated with Lizzie as to her 
roving propensities, but to very little avail — the 
child was an incorrigible runaway, though as 
there was in those days no railroad in Waverley, 
and tramps were entirely unknown, she was about 
as safe wandering around the tovv^n as playing 
with her little sister Lulu in the yard at home. 
* * * * 

Wild flowers abounded in the green fields and 
hillsides around Waverley. Among others there 
were gorgeous sweet-williams, modest johnny- 
jump-ups, and the sweet, dainty strawberry blos- 
soms. Fragrant wild roses, too, beautified the 
spring roadsides ; but cultivated flowers were very 
scarce. Mrs. Dr. Clayton had several magnificent 
snowballs on each side of her neat brick walk, 
while Mr. Howe's lawn, near the court house, 
boasted some beautiful roses which were the pride 
of their owner's heart. One bright Sunday morn- 
ing in June, Lizzie, fresh and dainty in her best 
pink and white lawn, started to Sunday School, 
of which she was very fond. One tiny hand held 
her little round fan, and in the other was the pride 
of her heart, a small silk sunshade, which she held 
over her head very straight indeed, in blissful 
unconsciousness of the whereabouts of the sun. 
When she passed Mr. Howe's neat white fence, 
her beauty-loving eyes peering curiously, as 
usual, through the pickets, caught sight of the 
roses nodding gaily in the sweet morning breeze, 
and as there was no one near to forbid, the little 
Vandal walked boldly into the yard and in full 
view of the front windows began to strip the 
bushes of their odorous burden. She had gathered 
only a few, however, for the thorns were numer- 
ous and sharp, when Mr. Howe caught sight of 
her as he was Deacefully finishing his after- 
breakfast cigar, and hastening to the rescue, he 
very kindly pointed out to the small trespasser 
the evil of her ways, and leading her to the gate 
started her once more toward the forgotten 
Sunday School. 

Colonel Hamilton often took his little daughter 



EARLY KANSAS 19 

with him to church and prayer-meeting, or better 
still, to visit his friends on business or pleasure. 
So one pleasant spring afternoon, when the grass 
was beautifully green and the air sweet from the 
recent rain, they walked hand in hand down the 
long sloping hill through the negro settlement 
of little white-washed cabins, and on a half mile 
or so past one or two farm houses, to where a 
number of snowy tents were clustered along the 
roadside. When her father started to enter one 
of these, Lizzie drew quickly back, panic-stricken, 
with a confused idea that for her numerous sini 
the oft-repeated maternal threat of "giving her 
to the Indians" was now become a dreadful real- 
ity. She knew well that tents could mean noth- 
ing else than Indians, and she had no intention 
of walking in upon a group of blood-thirsty 
savages. But her father assured her there was 
no danger, and at last, holding tightly to his 
hand and with a fast-beating heart, she ventured 
in. To her astonishment there were indeed no 
signs of Indians; the tent was occupied by a 
number of white men who seemed pleased to see 
them and greeted them with much cordiality. 
There were tables m the tents and beautiful rugs 
spread on the grass, and above all, the most de- 
lightful little chairs, covered with roses like Mrs. 
Carroll's parlor carpet. But "there were other 
wonders to come, for these dear little chairs would 
mysteriously open and close under the skillful 
manipulation of their genial host, who smilingly 
seated her in one of them. The gentlemen were 
soon absorbed in earnest converse, but Lizzie was 
indeed sorely puzzled to reconcile her ideas of 
wild Indians and tents with all this luxury and 
beauty and these pleasant gentlemen who patted 
her head and told her father with old-time 
courtesy that he ought to be proud of such a nice 
little girl. She never forgot this momentous 
visit to the wayside tents, which were the tempor- 
ary abode of the engineers and surveyors who 
were planning the route of the railway that was 
some years later built through the county. 
* * * * 

The early settlers of Waverley were about 
evenly divided between Northern and Southern 
sympathizers. There were a num6er of charm- 
ing Southern women who had left homes of ease 
and comfort to bravely take up the hard life of 
the pioneer amid stormy and uncongenial sur- 



20 IMPRESSIONS OF 

roundings. Their manners were so sweet and 
unaffected, and when they came to visit us how 
interesting the conversation was, and how the 
time flew as we listened to their soft voices, 
guiltless of the letter "r" and the quaintly char- 
acteristic "I do wondah," which we were sure to 
hear sooner or later. They really were well bred, 
if gentle courtesy, kindliness, and a charming air 
of frankness constitute good breeding. In com- 
pany all doleful matters, all sorrow^s and vexa- 
tions, must be put aside, and nothing allowed to 
appear on the surface but an air of happy spright- 
liness that must have benefited the wearer, at 
least, even though assumed for the occasion. 
They made almost a religion of social life, even 
though their homes might be, as many of them 
were, only a rude log cabin of one or two rooms, 
hardly so good as their slaves had been accustomed 
to at home. 

Among these ladies of Virginia and Kentucky 
descent and tradition was Mrs. Nelson, who was 
a genuine Kansas pioneer, coming to the territory 
in fifty-five. They settled on their claim with its 
typical log cabin, a mile or two from town, and 
here she worked hard and faithfully to make a 
home for her husband and two little boys. Mr. 
Nelson's law business took him from home a 
great deal, but his gently bred wife never flinched 
from her duty, although it led her into strange 
and often thorny paths. The hands, unused to 
any burden heavier than her embroidery frame, 
now learned to perform hard and often menial 
tasks, but they were done without complaining, 
for she was helping to build a home in the untried 
new country, — doing her part toward making the 
solitary places glad, and the desert to rejoice and 
blossom as the rose. 

There was a little coterie of choice friends in 
the neighborhood and they often met to compare 
notes as to their housekeeping and their gardens, 
and many a hearty laugh they enjoyed over their 
various mistakes and failures. The prairie winds 
blew so fiercely and so continuously, and the neces- 
sity for preserving their complexions was so strong 
within them, that they finally made thick masks 
of cloth to wear over their faces when out of doors, 
and over these their sunbonnets were tied so 
tightly that the playful Kansas zephyrs were 
baffled for once. 

One stormy evening in the early spring when 



EARLY KANSAS 21 

Mrs. Nelson was alone with her two little boys, 
a rough-looking man, an entire stranger, rode 
hastily up to the cabin and dismounted, disclosing 
the fact that he was very much under the influence 
of liquor. He tied his jaded horse to a convenient 
fence post, and without waiting for the trifling 
formality of an invitation, staggered into the 
house, where he looked the astonished lady in the 
face and in no uncertain tones demanded supper. 
He then, still uninvited, ensconced himself in^ a 
comfortable chair by the kitchen fire to await its 
preparation, fortifying himself, meanwhile, by 
frequent applications to a huge, black bottle, 
which he carried in his pocket; then again criti- 
cally examining a large and wicked looking knife, 
which he extricated from its hiding place in his 
shabby boot-leg. 

Mrs. Nelson, who was both seriously alarmed 
and indignant at his intrusion, was hardly swift 
enough in her preparations to please him and at 
last, with a scowling face, he impatiently ex- 
claimed, ''You ain't smart. My old woman would 
'a had supper ready long ago." A day or two 
afterward she observed her little four year old 
son, George,, frequently stooping down and mak- 
ing some mysterious motions about his feet, and 
watching him, she was amused to see that he had 
secured one of the table-knives and had it stick- 
ing in the top of his little shoe, in comical imita- 
tion of their uncouth visitor. 

Another disagreeable pioneer experience be- 
fell them when, one sultry night in July, a fright- 
ful storm came up suddenly and, after blowing 
open the doors, finally wrenched their swaying 
cabin from its foundation, and they were forced 
to fly for their lives, in the drenching rain, 
blinded by the lightning flashes and deafened by 
the crashing of the thunder and the screams of 
their terrified children as they stumbled through 
the inky darkness to the nearest shelter. 

Mrs. Nelson was a very gentle woman in every 
respect. A neighbor who lived near her for years 
said that in all that time she had never heard her 
use an unkind or threatening word or tone. She 
was indeed gentleness itself, and not very well 
fitted, apparently, to be a pioneer of the dark and 
bloody days in Kansas. They were once during 
the war entertaining a party of Southern ladies 
and among them was a thoughtless young Ken- 
tucky girl who declared she was going out in the 



22 IMPRESSIONS OF 

yard and for fun shout "Hurrah for Jeff Davis!" 
just to see what would happen. She meant to do 
it, too, and it took the combined efforts of the 
ladies, seconded by Mr. Nelson, himself, to con- 
vince her that such a rash act might lead to very 
unpleasant consequences. To Mrs. Nelson, as to 
others, the war brought many sad and anxious 
hours. There M^as a painful scarcity of both food 
and clothing. In Waverley, to be sure, the Aid 
Society had established headquarters where both 
were furnished to those who applied, and some 
of the principal beneficiaries, it was said, were 
living on the fat of the land, but the Nelsons 
were among those who would not beg. Old 
clothes were cut down and made over for the 
boys, — she found a treasure in a discarded red 
woolen table-cover, which was made into a nice, 
warm petticoat for the little daughter. The boys 
were going to school, — healthy, hearty youngsters 
who brought the appetite of wolves to the beans 
and corn-bread and occasional dried apple pie, 
which formed the basis of most of their scanty 
meals. It was very hard to explain to them that 
they must continue to wear their patched and 
faded garments, while their playmates, arrayed 
in brand new suits from the Aid Society, jeered 
and laughed, and with the merciless candor of 
boyhood and ignorance, made unfeeling sport of 
their shabby caps and flour-sack shirts. 

Whenever Mr. Nelson left home, she watched 
him out of sight with a sickening feeling of dread, 
not knowing that she would ever see him alive 
again, for there were those who sought his life 
in secret, and more than once only the timely 
warnings of friends had saved him from the mid- 
night assassin, cruel and merciless on the wooded 
hills of Waverley as on the distant PottawatomJe. 
That was a time of dark and bloody deeds, when 
the wicked and the coward, ambushed behind a 
show of loyalty, could strike vindictively at those 
whom he feared or hated, and there was no re- 
dress. 

We have heard so much of one side of the 
story, — let us glance just for a moment at the 
other. Mr. and Mrs. Cameron were respected 
citizens of ante-bellum Waverley, but as the war 
cloud darkened, old friends grew cool and they 
became aware that their loyalty was questioned, 
as both were Southerners. This feeling was par- 
ticularly rampant in one of their impecunious 



EARLY KANSAS 23 

neighbors, who talked loudly of "damned rebels" 
whenever he came in sight of the Cameron's cosy 
and well-kept home. At last friends advised Mr. 
Cameron that a judicious and well-timed absence 
was the best way out of his disagreeable position. 
He finally consented to go away for a time, and 
accordingly made the best arrangements he could 
for the comfort of his wife, who was an invalid. 
Among other things he laid in a good supply of 
wood, as the weather was intensely cold. He had 
been gone but a few days when Mrs. Cameron 
noticed that her wood was disappearing at an 
alarming rate; and one day to her utter amaze- 
ment she saw the aforesaid patriotic and chival- 
rous neighbor walking away from the wood-shed 
in broad daylight with his arms full of her 
precious fuel. Later on Mr. Cameron returned to 
Waverley and was allowed to gather up his be- 
longings in peace and to sell his really valuable 
property for next to nothing to one of his loyal 
and thrifty fellow-citizens. Now and then vague 
and vagrant whispers floated about concerning 
lofts and attics well stored with costly goods; of 
fine watches and other jewelry that never saw 
the light of day and of bitter impecuniosity trans- 
formed with magic celerity into a wealth that 
seemed quite Croesus-like by contrast. One rev- 
erened gentleman carried his righteous "bespoil- 
ing of the Egyptians" so far that he absent- 
mindedly, no doubt, carried off the belonging's of 
several pro-slavery churches, and his wife who, 
as a dutiful wife should be, was in full accord 
with her husband's aspirations and ambitions, 
was heard to express the pious wish that the war 
might last until they could completely furnish 
their church! 

There were other types of Southerners in 
Waverley who were very interesting but in an 
entirely different way from Mrs. Nelson and her 
friends. There was, for instance, Mrs. Mayfield, 
who weighed nearly three hundred, and whose 
broad, dark face was the very image of easy con- 
tent and good nature. This good woman always 
wore around her shoulders, — for strictly speak- 
ing she had no neck, — a snowy white handker- 
chief fastened in front with an enormous brooch, 
and in her ears large hoops of gold. The May- 
fields lived in a comfortable brown house only a 
short distance from ours. In the front yard were 
maple trees and tall asparagus bushes with their 



24 IMPRESSIONS OF 

feathery branches waving in the sweet summer 
breeze, undisturbed, for no one in Waverley ever 
thought of eating asparagus. 

Here on winter evenings we used to assemble 
in the cozy sitting-room with its bright rag carpet, 
its old-fashioned bureau and the wide white-draped 
bed, for in those days the family sitting-room 
was often the mother's bed room as well. After 
some unimportant conversation we would begin 
to beg Mrs. Mayfield for one of her famous 
stories. At last after much coaxing, she would 
say in her slow% good-natured way, "Well, Bessie, 
bring me my pipe," whereupon she would fill the 
bowl very carefully and deliberately, pressing the 
tobacco down firmly with her fat little finger. 
At last when the pipe was going to her entire 
satisfaction she would commence one of her 
inimitable stories of ghosts and "tokens," of 
"ha'ants" and runaway negroes, and sometimes 
of monstrous snakes and "painters," as she called 
panthers. We, in the meantime, were sorely torn 
by conflicting emotions, — among which an over- 
whelming desire to burst into shouts of laughter, 
the fear of mortally offending our kind hostess, 
and an intense desire to hear the quaintly told 
story, struggled for the mastery. The last usu- 
ally conquered, hovrever, and we would listen with 
breathless attention until the clock struck the 
dreaded hour of nine, when we would reluctantly 
issue, shivering- with fright, into the cold dark 
night, and once out of the yard with the hospitable 
door closed behind us, raced wildly for home along 
the deserted street pursued by phantoms of fright 
in the form of ghosts, hobgoblins, and most terri- 
ble and sinister of all, crazy men. We would 
burst in upon the family like a whirlwind, all our 
panic routed by the cheerful light and fire; and 
the next evening v/e were as anxious as ever to 
go and be terrified afresh. Modern parents are 
much too wise to allow their children to listen to 
ghost stories, but for all that I quite pity the 
child who has never known the shivering, half- 
horrified fascination of a real, old time ghost 
story, told with all the embellishments of one who 
firmly believes in the supernatural; and who has 
not torn himself releuctantly from the cheerful 
glow of lamplight and firelight, and plunged, in- 
wardly quaking, like another Ichabod Crane, into 
the outer darkness, resolving that come what 
might he will never be tempted to stay so late 



EARLY KANSAS 25 

again, only to find himself the very next night in 
exactly the same predicament. Mother had often 
told us how she used to visit the cabins after 
supper and listen to the negroes' stories until she 
was afraid to run across the few rods' vacant 
space to the house. When I years and years 
afterward visited for the first time the picturesque 
old homestead and saw the ancient log cabins 
tottering to their fall, I thought of the dear little 
girl and her hurried flight in the darkness, some 
good old aunty holding a lighted candle at the 
v/indow until the sound of the closing door told 
that "Miss Fannie" was safely inside. 

Mrs. Mayfield, however, could talk on other 
subjects than hobgoblins and "painters." She 
had quite a fund of dry humor and was a very 
keen observer. Too unwieldy for many household 
tasks, she sat nearly all day in her comfortable 
rocker at the sitting-room window which com- 
manded a good view of the street and nothing 
escaped her notice. Once she was visiting at our 
house when Hattie Mason, a poor girl who had 
formerly worked for mother, came in for a brief 
summer call. She was attired in the most splen- 
did fashion, carrying a year's wages on her back. 
A much be-flowered and be-ribboned hat sur- 
mounted a flounced silk dress of brilliant hues, 
and in her kid-gloved hand she carried a gay silk 
sunshade. Mother was quite overw^helmed at the 
sight of so much magnificence and remarked 
about it after Hattie had sailed off, carrying her 
head very high. But Mrs. Mayfield was not at all 
dazzled by mere outward show; her sharp black 
eyes had penetrated, as it were, to the very 
foundation of the whole costume, and in her usual 
slow, deliberate tones she cooly drawled, "Did 
you see that there great big hole in her stockun?" 

Another time she was telling us about a cousin 
whose husband was so unfeeling and stingy that 
he would not provide her with the ordinary neces- 
sities of life. She sighed as she dwelt at some 
length on her relative's hard fate, and at last, 
with the rich superfluity of negatives that so 
greatly distinguished her conversation, she sadly 
added, "He wouldn't git her no cloze, and she 
didn't have nothin' to wa'ar, and so she got so 
she wouldn't go nowha'ar." 



26 IMPRESSIONS OF 

Chapter The Third 

SOME OLD KANSAS HOMES 

In the palmy daj^s of the Woodson Hotel, 
there stood in the adjoining yard a moderate- 
sized villa-like mansion with many windows and 
sharp-pointed gables decorated with an elaborate 
cornice. The two front doors opened on a pleas- 
ant veranda and a wide expanse of grassy lawn. 
For some reason the owner moved away at an 
early date, and after a time the gabled mansion, 
untenanted, began to take on the appearance of 
age. This was a favorite objective point of Lizzie 
Hamilton's runaway excursions, for it was in this 
house that she was born and some hidden charm 
often drew her wandering feet in that direction. 
Perhaps it was because the rich blue-grass grew 
taller and more luxuriantly here than anywhere 
else, and the birds sang undisturbed in the neg- 
lected trees. Be that as it may, Lizzie often 
stopped to peer curiously through the fast graying 
palings upon the alluring beauty of tall trees and 
waving grass, intensified by the unbroken still- 
ness, save the m>elody of the birds. Long it stood 
deserted, that pleasant, roomy house, in its fine 
location quite remote from the noise and bustle 
of the busy square; an ideal home for an artist 
or a poet, had there been either in the little city. 
No one seemed to care for it in the least, except 
Lizzie, and she was gradually coming to the pass 
of bravery that at last emboldened her to explore 
the dingy interior with its stained and dropping 
plaster and creaking, uneven stairs. She looked 
all around the desolate empty room in which she 
was born, trying to picture it aglow with warmth 
and light, the noisy chatter of the other children, 
and in the far, shadov/y corner the gentle mother 
with her dark-eyed babe. She had been told there 
was a great snow storm the day she was born, 
and she looked through the tall, staring windows, 
at the straggling apple-trees, trying to fancy all 
the space without filled with the beautiful, swift- 
flying flakes, while as night came swiftly on, the 
bright lights from the many windows of the near- 
by hotel gleamed mistily through the tumultuous 
storm. 

Lizzie's house as she fondly called it, was never 
occupied long at a time, its tenants being usually 
some vagrant family who wintered there and 



EARLY KANSAS 27 

were off again in the spring. Some even de- 
clared that the place was haunted, as it grew 
more and more dilapidated and deserted, so that 
even the vagrants sought its shelter no more. 
After a good many years it was torn down and 
gave place to a pleasant, modern home whose in- 
mates doubtless little dream of their fleshly and 
ghostly predecessors on that sightly corner of 
modern Waverley. 

Lizzie had a sort of penchant for wandering 
about in the neighborhood of certain houses which 
for one reason or another attracted her childish 
fancy or curiosity. The homes whose doors were 
always open and where the children played around 
the yard, she passed carelessly by with scant at- 
tention. But a house set back embowered in 
trees and shrubbery, or one whose doors and win- 
dows were always closed and v/hose inmates were 
seldom or never seen, seemed to challenge her at- 
tention in a way that she was unable to resist. 
There was one neat white cottage near the square 
whose windows and even the front door were 
hidden by dark-green shutters, which in the hot- 
test weather were never opened. She used to 
often go out of her way to walk past this place, 
and even made up her mind that she would like 
to be transformed into a fly for a few minutes, 
only that she might immediately investigate its 
provokingly mysterious interior. 

Several blocks away was a weird looking house 
with a basement, almost black, having long since 
lost all traces of paint or whitewash, looking 
strangely sinister and out of place among the 
neatly kept white cottages around it. Its occu- 
pants were a childless old couple who never seemed 
to mingle with their neighbors, were seldom seen 
on the street, and never went to church. Now 
and then stray bits of gossip which were only 
half understood by the children would be heard, 
and these were nearly always accompanied by 
sundry knowing winks and sagacious nods which 
seemed to indicate the most wonderful and un- 
canny possibilities. 

At last one evening in early spring Lizzie was 
sent for the first time on an errand to the old 
black house. When, after several timid knocks, 
the door was opened she vaguely expected to see 
a dim forbidding interior, festooned with dust 
and ancient cobwebs, with perhaps a grinning 
skull and crossbones by way of ornament ; for the 



28 IMPRESSIONS OF 

veiled hints and mysterious allusions concerning 
the old couple had fallen into the fertile soil of 
a too vivid imagination. She was, however, ac- 
tually disappointed when the door, opened by a 
neat, smiling- old lady, revealed nothing more 
dreadful than a wide hall, handsomely papered, 
light and cheerful, and in the most exquisite 
order; a startling contrast to the forbidding ex- 
terior; and its mistress fully as different from 
the witch-like crone Lizzie had expected to see. 
The old couple were said to believe in spiritualism, 
and this had given rise to the many extravagant 
rumors which floated around among the Waverley 
gossips, that peculiar belief being regarded with 
a sort of wondering horror by most of the good 
people of orthodox Kansas. 

On the noble western plateau of Waverley 
were many attractive homes; neat white cottages 
set well back from the quiet street in their ample 
grounds, surrounded by white picket fences or 
neatly trimmed hedges. Mr. Schemerhorn's 
house was one of the best of these, but it burned 
to the ground one windy March day, and I well 
remember my horror after the dreadful fright 
and excitement were over, when mother told me 
he intended to rebuild on exactly the same spot. I 
was sure there would be fire enough left in the 
smouldering ruins to burn down the new house, 
and no argument could convince me to the con- 
trary. But the new house was built in time, a 
large square mansion of brick of two full stories, 
the stateliest in the place, and the scene of much 
delightful hospitaliy. I recall among other events 
a large evening party for the entire Sunday 
School, when the spacious, well furnished rooms 
upstairs and dovrn were brilliantly lighted and 
filled with a joyous company of young men and 
maidens, old people and children, and happiness 
and merriment reigned supreme. Mr. Schemer- 
horn had no children, but as the efficient super- 
intendent of the Sunday School for many years, 
he was known and loved by every urchin in the 
place. It was largely due to him that we little 
ones had now and then the rare delight of a picnic. 
This was an event looked forward to for weeks 
with the most eager expectancy, for among other 
charming things a picnic meant a delightful ride, 
in wagon or carriage, it mattered little which, to 
the pleasant woods, and when once there we were 
entertained and royally feasted in a manner that 



EARLY KANSAS 29 

some of us, at least, never forgot. After playing 
and shouting and swinging from some giant limb 
until we were tired, we gathered around the 
bountiful feast of delicious chicken and ham, the 
finest bread and butter, various tarts, pickles 
and delicious frosted cake. Last of all, but by no 
means least, large baskets of mixed candies were 
passed around by Mr. Schemerhorn, himself, his 
plain countenance fairly beaming with kindness 
and pleasure as he enjoyed our happiness. And 
then in the early summer twilight came the de- 
lightful ride back to town, and another precious 
memory enriched our childhood. 

Not far from Mr. Schemerhorn's was the beauti- 
ful country home of Mr. Graham, the Presbyterian 
minister. This place was so far from ours that 
I used to regard it as a rare treat to walk past, 
and gaze my full at the broad expanse of velvety 
lawn, beautifully shaded by groups of elms and 
maples. A large gate opened on a winding drive- 
way that led like a broad, dark ribbon to the house. 
This was built of dark red brick with its sharp 
pointed gable toward the road, and a wide ver- 
anda afforded a delightful view^ of tne tov/n and 
surrounding country. The house was not very 
large, but there was an unmistakable air of grand- 
eur and elegance about this place, and a flavor of 
grace and high breeding about its inmates which 
invested all with a sort of subtle charm that time 
has never effaced. Mr. Graham was a tall, 
slender man of clerical aspect and much kindly 
dignity. We were indebted to him for the plant- 
ing around the church grounds of a double row 
of beautiful Lombardy poplars whose stately, 
shimmering spires seemed continually breathing 
a Sabbath welcome to all who worshipped in the 
unpretentious little church. Mrs. Graham was a 
fair, handsome woman of early middle age, and 
the mother of two lovely young daughters. Eve- 
lyn, the elder, was tall and fair and dignified, like 
her father; Mildred was rosy and petite like her 
mother, and both were beautiful. They spent the 
greater part of the year at some Eastern school, 
so we saw very little of them ; but one winter, at 
least, they attended our school. I can well re- 
member once when we were all playing "house" 
Mildred chose me from among a crowd of eager 
candidates to be her "little girl," and my foolish 
child's heart almost burst with joy and pride. 
Whenever we sang or heard of angels, the image 



30 IMPRESSIONS OF 

of the Graham girls immediately came into my 
mind, and to this day I recall them as the loveliest 
sisters I have ever known. One summer day 
they attended a picnic in the country, which was 
rudely broken up by a threatened storm of wind 
and rain. To my delight they stopped at our 
house and asked for shelter, young girls of about 
twelve and thirteen they were then, in dainty blue 
and white ginghams. When the storm was over 
and the scattering clouds with their ragged edges 
revealed once more the blue sky beyond, they un- 
cermoniously removed their nice new "gaiters" 
and snowy stockings, and prepared to walk bare- 
footed over the back streets to their home nearly 
a mile away. I am not sure, however, but what 
we suffered somewhat from this episode, as 
mother was more insistent than before on our 
taking care of our clothes, and often commended 
their example to our consideration when we were 

careless. 

* * * * 

As a rule the early settlers of Waverley were not 
overburdened with worldly goods, but still there 
were a few families whose carefully darkened 
parlors looked to us like fairyland itself. We used 
to embrace every opportunity to gaze with delight 
on Mrs. Glenn's beautiful best carpet, a Brussels, 
scattered over with exquisite wreaths of roses on 
a light background. This treasure was put care- 
fully away every fall and striped rag carpet put 
down in its place. To possess an organ or a 
melodeon was an open sesame to the upper circles, 
while pianos were almost entirely unknown, there 
being but two or three in the township. 

Mrs. Carroll's parlor was well furnished with 
a rich carpet, slippery horsehair sofa and chairs 
and a marble topped table in the centre of the 
room.. This table usually held an album or two 
full of old-fashioned dim photographs of women 
in very shiny silk gowns with their hair over their 
ears ; and a motley and fearsome array of bearded 
men. The painful lack of beauty displayed by 
these old-time albums before artists had become 
such consummate flatterers, invests many an 
otherwise pleasant parlor of my childhood days 
with a sort of murky and dismal gloom. The 
sterescope and views, however, which usually ac- 
companied the offending albums, made amends 
by their beauty and lifelike charm for the other's 
deficiencies in those respects, so that one seemed 



EARLY KANSAS 31 

in a way to balance the other. Most parlors 
in these days were papered in white "satin" 
paper, and on Mrs. Carroll's wall hung a large 
mirror resting on two antique glass knobs, and 
pictures in gilded frames were suspended from 
large-headed nails by rich red cord with heavy 
tassels, most gorgeous to behold. Steel engrav- 
ings of Washington and his family were to be 
found in nearly every home, and wonderful en- 
larged pictures of the family relatives gazed 
serenely down upon us; the women usually with 
a long curl, sometimes two, that hung carefully 
over their shoulders, while the hair was piled 
high, with curls and "frizzes" over the forehead 
after the prevailing mode. 

We had no enlarged pictures of relatives except 
a life size painting of father, but on our parlor 
wall hung a copy of "The Southern Beauty," 
which we thought a most appropriate name for 
the sweet pictured face with its crown of soft 
waving hair enriched like the others with the 
ubiquitous curl over the shoulder. In our unpre- 
tentious parlor, which usually went by the name 
of the "front room," were a couple of old-time 
slippery horsehair tete-a-tetes, the finest places 
imaginable to snugly ensconce oneself on a snowy 
afternoon when the fire burned bright in the old 
wood stove, which we said looked like the cathe- 
dral at Milan, and in that luxurious sleepy hollow, 
fortified with two or three red apples, or a bag 
of candy, pore over the enchanted pages of Doctor 
Croly's "Salathiel" or George Sand's fascinating 
and adventurous "Consuelo." Sometimes, by 
rare good luck, there might be a Peterson's mag- 
azine or two, while if nothing else could be found 
or borrowed, the faithful Cottage Cyclopedia or 
Rollins' Outlines of Ancient History was always 
available. 

Shall I ever forget one wonderful day when 
the company had filed out into the dining room 
and I was left alone with the sleeping baby to sit 
by the fire or gaze out upon the snowy landscape 
as I pleased, until such a time as the guests should 
return from the feast and we children have our 
turn, for I was brought up in the good old days 
when children had to wait for the second table. 
However, I did neither, but presently began to 
rummage in certain drawers and presses in the 
parlor bedroom. 

Suddenly, to my astonishment and delight, my 



I 



32 IMPRESSIONS OF 

hand encountered a book hidden away among the 
folded garments, and I drew forth a green and 
gold volume of delightful size and thickness, en- 
titled "Ravenia, or The Outcast Redeemed." I 
didn't know what an outcast was but I knew a 
book, and it is needless to say that the time fairly 
flew until the friends were back again in the 
parlor and I Vx^as free to demand an explanation 
of such an unheard of thing as a book in our house 
that I knew not of. New books were rarely 
bought, and that was almost as wonderful an 
experience as the finding of a secret door or 
chamber might have been to the daughter of a 
medieval castle who was sure she knew every foot 
of her ancient domicile. Some smooth-tongued 
agent had sold the book to mother, who had care- 
fully hidden it from my prying eyes, but in vain. 
I wonder if any other Kansas girl has read 
"Ravenia, or the Outcast Redeemed," and if any 
copies are still in existence. 

Of a very different grade of reading was the 
magazine which my dear father gave me on my 
fiftenth birthday. A delightful treat, new every 
month, was the "National Repository," with its. 
high class fiction and its finely illustrated articles 
of travel, poetry and biography. I was verj'' 
proud of it as my own magazine coming in my 
name, so I read all the heavier articles of criti- 
cism and politics, which otherwise I should prob- 
ably have omitted. It, too, was often my com- 
panion in the sleepy hollow tete-a-tete of fond 
memory. 

Then in our dining room was an ancient divan, 
upholstered in faded green, and bearing unequivo- 
cal marks of the rough handling of many children. 
One snowy evening Jessie Thompson, a tall, dark- 
eyed schoolmate, came to spend the evening with 
us and our two boy cousins who were visiting 
from the east. To our mutual astonishment 
Jessie and I had just learned that we were a sort 
of elbow kindred, the two boys being her cousins 
also. While the aunts and uncles were talking 
in the parlor we spent a jolly evening playing 
"blindman" in the kitchen and diningroom, five 
or six of us children, Annie, the colored cook, 
and last but by no means least, Annie's beau, 
Hannibal, a gigantic darky, black as the ace of 
spades. 

Jessie noticed the two tete-a-tetes in the parlor 
and the old green divan in the diningroom. The 



EARLY KANSAS 33 

next morning as we were all standing around 
the red hot stove in the well-filled high school 
room waiting for the second bell, she suddenly 
bawled out at the top of her by no means gentle 
voice, and to my utter astonishment and dismay — 
"Johnston's is rich — they've got three sofys!" 

To walk past the green-shuttered white cot- 
tage of the Bishop family a stranger would never 
imagine the treasures contained within its mod- 
est walls. First of all, in the carefully darkened 
parlor with its rich three-ply carpet and lace 
curtained windows, was the tall handsome book- 
case overflowing with the most interesting vol- 
umes of history and standard fiction. In the 
closet, safely hidden away (entirely too safely I 
thought) on the highest shelves, were piles of 
delightful old Harpers and Frank Leslies with 
their charming stories and pictures. How I 
longed to work my will on them, but they were 
very seldom disturbed, for Dolly was fonder of a 
good romp and visiting than of books. 

Dolly had probably the best furnished bed-room 
of any girl in town in those days. The Brussels 
carpet was somewhat threadbare in places, having 
done duty in the parlor in Waverley or elsewhere 
for many years, but the large dressing table and 
commode made ample amends. They were of 
dark walnut, richly carved, with white marble 
tops, while the handsome bedstead was unusually 
tall, also rich in carving with the head of a beau- 
tiful woman looking from the center panel. In 
Mrs. Bishop's room on the other side of the house 
was a magnificent set of mahogany, as severely 
plain as Mary's walnut set was ornate, and the 
pride of its owner's heart, no other home in 
Waverley boasting anything at all worthy to com- 
pare with it. 

* * * * 

As I look back at old Waverley it seems that 
for a new town and a western town at that, there 
were so many women who lived in strict seclusion 
and were so seldom seen abroad, that it would be 
no stretch of the imagination to say that the place 
was unusually rich in genuine recluses. One of 
these was Mrs. Jeffries, who lived near Colonel 
Carroll's in a pleasant, roomy house, whose upper 
story had several interesting looking dormer win- 
dows, such as Lizzie Hamilton would have been 
delighted to explore had that golden opportunity 
ever presented itself. 



34 IMPRESSIONS OF 

One summer evening after their early supper 
Mrs. Nelson with her little daughter, Julia, went 
to call on Mrs. Jeffries, who was an old friend, 
though Julia had never seen her. As they walked 
homeward through the scented dusk the mother 
said, to discover what the child thought of her 
hostess, "Mrs. Jeffries is an old-fashioned kind of a 
lady, isn't she?" The little four-year-old, thus ap- 
pealed to, looked up gravely into her mother's face, 
and without a smile and in a manner as quaint 
and old-fashioned as that Mrs. Jeffries herself, 
answered, "Yes, ma'am," slowly adding as a sort 
of after thought, "I was awful 'shamed of her." 

^ SjC sjs ^ 

Mr. Jeffries was one of Waverley's pioneer 
saloonkeepers. I can still see the tall black letters 
on the big sign that stretched boldly across the 
front of his two-story frame building, "UNCLE 
TOM'S SALOON." This, of course, was long 
before the days of prohibition and Uncle Tom 
Jeffries was one of Waverley's substantial busi- 
ness men. Citizens in all stages of intoxication 
were often seen in the streets and alleys. Many 
of these unfortunates were men of intelligence 
and education, college graduates, doctors, and more 
especially lawyers, — for some reason the members 
of the legal profession seemed sadly addicted to 
drink. It was told of a young attorney, a mem- 
ber of a fine Southern family, that he wandered 
one dark stormy night into a hog lot, and, too 
drunk to realize what he was doing, lay down like 
a modern Prodigal Son among the swine and fell 
asleep. Some passerby, so the story goes, heard 
him late in the night complaining bitterly to his 
hoggish bedfellows, "Move over there and don't 
crowd me, don't you know who I am? I'm a 
Cary." When sober, which was seldom, this poor 
wretch was a polished gentleman, and to hear him 
on the Fourth of July read the Declaration of 
Independence in his full, round tones, was a rare 
treat. 

Sometimes we children, on our way from 
school, would wickedly laugh at or otherwise 
annoy some poor wayside drunkard for the fun 
of seeing him rouse for the instant all his be- 
numbed faculties and start fiercely toward us 
with clenched, uplifted fist and wildly muttered 
threats, only to stagger uncertainly for a few 
steps and then ignominiously fall flat. 

"Old Lem Jones" was the euphemistic title 



EARLY KANSAS 35 

given to a grizzled, tough looking farmer who 
lived somewhere in the obscurity of the heavily 
wooded hills beyond Waverley, whence it was pop- 
ularly supposed nothing good could emanate. It 
was seldom indeed that "Lem" came to town on 
business or pleasure without drinking himself 
into a violent frenzy. Along toward supper time 
the sounds of the customary uproar would give 
us to understand that he had started for home, 
and dropping all other occupations we children 
would run to look, — at a safe distance, however. 
Once safely in the saddle, leaving his jeering com- 
panions at the corner saloon, on he would come 
at the top of his horse's speed, a pitiful figure as 
I recall him now; his battered old hat of dirty 
white felt turned up on both sides and tied with a 
string; his loose shirt sleeves flapping in the wind, 
reeling in his saddle and yelling and swearing the 
foulest oaths at the top of his stentorian voice, — 
away he would gallop to his v/retched home, carry- 
ing pandemonium and consternation wherever he 
rode. 

In a week or a month he would appear again 
on the streets with a load of firewood, unharmed 
and unashamed, and ready for another debauch. 

Occurrences such as this, that would not be 
considered too atrocious to tolerate for even a mo- 
ment,, were then apparently accepted as a matter 
of course like frost in May, or any other unavoid- 
able evil. Ladies and school-girls never appeared 
on the streets on convention and election days, 
when many of the best citizens had a habit of 
drinking to excess, though sober at other times. 
A new generation has come up in Kansas, many 
of whom have never even seen a drunken man, or 
a licensed saloon with its crowd of attendant 
loafers ; so it is of little use to talk to us who re- 
member those halcyon days of the saloon and the 
staggering wayside drunkard with his obscene 
and blasphemous tongue, about the failure of pro- 
hibition to prohibit. 



36 IMPRESSIONS OF 

Chapter The Fourth 

OLD CHURCHES. 

"There will be preaching in this house tonight 
at early candlelight," was the usual pulpit an- 
nouncement in the days when Waverley was 
young, and it would seem to indicate a painful 
lack of time-pieces among the worshippers. The 
Methodists, as is usual with that wide-awake 
denomination, were early in the field. In the 
early days they had no church building, meeting 
first in the one-room school house, and afterward 
in an unused frame store-building on the side of 
a hill in a lonely part of town ; the building, once 
a flourishing mercantile establishment, having 
been abandoned in the march of business toward 
the vicinity of the square. 

There were no embellishments of any kind in 
that lowly temple; no clustered lamps, no organ. 
Hymn-books were scarce, and it was the custom 
for the minister to slowly read two lines of the 
hymn, and then pause while the congregation 
sang those two, then read two more, when all 
would sing again, and so on till the song was 
finished. 

On cold winter nights, the large, bare room, 
with its staring windows and plain hard wooden 
benches, was but poorly lighted by three or four 
kerosene lamps which served to illumine a space 
around the rude pulpit and the big wood stove, 
leaving the distant corners, where the ungodly 
scoffers usually sat, in deep shadow. 

One cold evening while a "protracted meet- 
ing," as the revival was called, was in progress, 
Mary Thomas and Anna Willis, little girls of 
seven and eight, had come early and were sitting 
demurely on one of the hard benches watching 
the people as they came in quickly, shivering 
with the cold, most of them standing for a few 
minutes by the red-hot stove before going to 
their seats. Some of the ladies wore velvet bon- 
nets, handsome paisley shawls and huge fur capes, 
but many more had plain dark double shawls and 
warm, serviceable hoods or bright colored 
"nubys." Many of the men wore their old blue 
army overcoats with bright brass buttons. Some 
were there, however, who had plain, dark over- 
coats, and there were several glossy beaver 
tippets, and the minister and one or two of the 



EARLY KANSAS 37 

brethren even wore tall silk "stovepipe" hats, but 
these elegancies were confined to the favored few. 

The services began by the singing of one or 
two familiar hymns; after which all knelt for 
the first prayer. Mary and Anna, incited by 
some spirit of mischief, knelt also in their 
dusky corner, and presently, imitating the preva- 
lent custom of the more devout among the hand- 
ful of worshippers gathered together in the poor 
building, began to give utterance to many fervent 
"Amens!" "Lord grant it!" "Come, Lord!" and 
similar ejaculations, interspersed with frequent 
but stifled bursts of laughter. 

Retribution, however, was close upon Anna, 
at least, for at the close of the prayer, her father 
arose and led her, crestfallen and abashed, from 
the room, telling her sternly to go home at once, — 
that he was very much ashamed of her. 

Poor Anna, decidedly dejected at this unlooked- 
for termination of the evening's enjoyment, ran as 
fast as she could along the deserted, snowy streets, 
all alone, as it seemed, under the frosty, starlit 
sky, and burst in breathless on the astonished 
home circle to find them popping corn and making 
merry around the kitchen fire. Not placing too 
much emphasis on this one lapse from rectitude, 
Anna was usually a very good little girl in church, 
and she knew all the old hymns by heart : "Come, 
thou fount of every blessing," "A charge to keep 
I have," "0 happy day that fixed my choice," 
"Come ye that love the Lord," "Come holy spirit, 
heavenly dove," and ever so many more. There 
was another fine, old hymn whose length seemed 
interminable to Anna, probably because it was 
often sung after the long sermon when she was 
tired and half asleep, and which began, very ap- 
propriately, vshe thought, with the words, "How 
tedious and tasteless the hours," nearly every- 
body pronouncing the second word as though 
it were spelled "tejus." 

Many of the congregation had a habit of groan- 
ing dismally at the end of every line or two, as 
though they found their religion a nurden griev- 
ous to be borne, or perhaps it was the sight of 
the unconverted among them which forced the 
utterance of those bitter moans. There was one 
favorite song, however, which seemed to inspire 
them with more hope and cheer, the grand old 
Portuguese hymn, "How firm a foundation," for 



38 IMPRESSIONS OF 

it was always sung with a special vigor and 
fervor by those humble Christians. Shouting was 
very common among them at their revivals. I 
remember one night when the church was packed 
to hear a popular evangelist, that a man in the 
rear of the house jumped up and began to shout, 
and not being able to make his way to the front 
through the crowded aisles, he sprang up on the 
back of the nearest seat and in that way, stepping 
between the astonished people as they crouched 
to one side or the other to escape his feet, he 
reached the platform shouting and praying and 
calling upon God, amid wild excitement, which re- 
minded the older ones of camp-meeting days in the 
time of the mighty circuit riders of Ohio and In- 
diana. 

In the course of time the Waverley Methodists 
were able to build a new brick church, and among 
other up-to-date furnishings a fine, large chande- 
lier was purchased. This was the subject of 
much admiration and of not a little apprehension 
as well, — some of the more tim.id among the good 
sisters refusing utterly to sit beneath its efful- 
gent splendor until time and service had demon- 
strated its virtues and its harmlessness. 

The next innovation was the installing of an 
organ, but this step was so bitterly and vigorously 
opposed by the old-fashioned, conservative mem- 
bers who regarded musical instruments as inven- 
tions of the evil one for their destruction, that it 
threatened for a time to disrupt the church en- 
tirely. The more progressive, or perhaps I should 
say the more modern element, carried the day, 
however, and the organ was triumphantly en- 
throned upon the platform to the great delight 
of us children; and with it a stylish and numer- 
ous choir, whose intricate anthems and new tunes 
to old hymns effectually silenced and subdued the 
stubborn old guard of the opposition. 

My chief admiration was the organist, a large, 
fair girl with masses of brown hair and clear blue 
eyes. She wore a black velvet cloak trimmed with 
rich lace, and I never tired of watching her long, 
white fingers as they drew such delightful mel- 
ody from the magical keys. One Sunday morning 
as I waited for my father after church I thought 
I would try to play my favorite, "Shall we gather 
at the river," on the organ. I knew the words and 
the tune perfectly, and in my secret heart I had 
no doubt that I could play it nearly as well as 



EARLY KANSAS 39 

Miss Wright herself. So I seated myself at the 
organ, unnoticed by the two gentlemen who were 
deep in some important converse. Imagine my 
disappointment when instead of my beloved mel- 
ody I succeeded only in evoking such an appalling 
series of discords and thrice dismal squawks that 
after a few more trials I gave up in the deepest 
despair. 

I consoled myself when I reached home by re- 
solving to make my doll a velvet cloak with lace in 
the sleeves, like Miss Wright's. I knew it was i 
very wrong to sew on Sunday, but the temptation 
was so great that I succumbed, and after dinner 
sneaked into the cellar with with my precious vel- 
vet and lace. Here I wrought so diligently that 
in spite of dressmakings being an entirely lost art 
so far as I was concerned, I actually succeeded in 
producing an exquisite little cloak, with lace in 
the sleeves, all complete. 

I was greatly delighted, and could hardly wait 
till morning to show my triumph to my playmate, 
May, who lived in the next house and whose doll 
of late had, by reason of her finer raiment, been 
rather crowing over my poor Hildegarde. Why 
I left that precious garment in the cellar all night 
I have never been able to determine, unless it was 
that for some occult reason I had established my 
doll-house down there and I thought the cloak 
should be in the house carefully laid on the empty 
Hostetter's Bitters bottle that masqueraded as a 
piano. Morning came at last and I ran joyfully 
down cellar to produce my treasure, but alas! I 
found it not. Unable to believe my eyes, I 
searched and delved into every dark nook and cor- 
ner, but all in vain. Broken-hearted, I was com- 
pelled to give up in blank despair; and never, 
from that memorable, desecrated Sabbath to this 
day, have I fathomed the sad mystery of that de- 
plorable evanishment. 



One summer the brick church was fitted up 
with some improvised desks, and a number of us 
attended a select school there taught by Mr. Leon- 
ard who ruled over twenty-five or thirty pupils of 
all ages. How proud I was of my new McGuffy's 
Fifth Reader and my little elementary Harvey's 
grammar. I can remember many of Jthe reading 
lessons, and how little Jimmie Price, only nine 
years old, stumbled on "ducats," pronouncing it 



40 IMPRESSIONS OF 

"due-cats," thereby calling down upon his cower- 
ing head the withering scorn of the teacher. 

Mr. Leonard was, in fact, a stern disciplinar- 
ian. He kept a stout leather strap in his desk, 
and woe betide the luckless urchin detected in 
mischief at whom it was thrown with unerring 
aim. He (or as it sometimes happened she) 
must, after jumping half out of the seat with 
astonishment and fright, arise and in deep dis- 
grace carry the detested missile back to the of- 
fended teacher, and, conscious of the eyes and 
suppressed titters of the whole school, stand 
meekly by his side until the trouble was explained 
and fitting punishment meted out. 
* * * * 

The first church built in Waverley was the 
Presbyterian, a plain wooden edifice of neat and 
pleasing appearance. It stood in a large grassy 
yard, quiet and tree-shaded, and surrounded by 
the l3eautiful Lombardy poplars. There was a 
large vestibule from which two doors led into 
red-carpeted aisles. There was a window on each 
side of the pulpit, and the choir occupied seats 
on a high platform in the rear of the church be- 
tween the two doors. Tall, many-paned windows 
on each side admitted the light, and when widely 
open in summer afforded charming glimpses of 
the grassy lawn without with the sunlight flicker- 
ing through the branches of the sheltering trees 
and casting their trembling shadows all about. 
Many of my most precious childish memories are 
twined about this dear old church. How I loved, 
from my favorite seat next the window, to feast 
my eyes upon the exquisite, soul-satisfying beauty 
of gently waving grass and leafy trees ; listening 
meanwhile almost unconsciously to the sonorous 
tones of the minister or the sacred songs of praisp 
rising sweetly on the fresh morning air. All 
churches should be set in grassy places among the 
murmuring trees, and little children should look 
from the open windows and rejoice in the blessed 
blending of beautiful sight and beautiful har- 
mony; while over all the landscape far and near, 
rests the quiet, never-to-be-forgotten charm of 
God's holy Sabbath. So it was with the old Pres- 
byterian church of Waverley. 

Mrs. Graham, the minister's wife, always oc- 
cupied the same seat, and sat very erect, never 
turning her head in the slightest degree when 
anyone came in. To look around during services, 



EARLY KANSAS 41 

in Waverley, was a mark of the grossest ill 
breeding and lack of self-respect. No matter how 
tantalizing and suggestive of all charming pos- 
sibilities the rustlings and flutterings of the new- 
comers might be, if they took seats back of you, 
you were doomed thenceforward to the pangs of 
unsatisfied curiosity, unless, indeed, you were so 
hopelessly lost to all the claims of decorum as to 
basely turn around and look in their direction, — 
a breach of etiquette which very few were hardy 
enough to commit. Many a time I have watched 
those stately, immovable forms, and wondered in 
my inmost heart if when I was grown up I could 
ever attain to such Spartan self-control. 

It was strange but true that in the Methodist 
church we felt much freer to look around when- 
ever the door opened. There, except among a select 
few. decorum had not reached quite such a lofty 
pitch, and also there was no denying, the atmos- 
phere there lacked a certain intangible charm and 
flavor of aristocratic elegance and repose that 
seemed characteristic of the older church. There 
was not such a pleasant odor of scent, and the 
ladies' fans, as a rule, were not so handsome, nor 
were they waved with such stateliness and grace. 

I loved to look at Mrs. Carroll as she walked 
up the aisle so quietly, always sitting in the same 
place. She usually wore some semi-transparent, 
gauzy costume like the old-time grenadines, and her 
hands were always faultlessly gloved. She invar- 
iably bowed her head for a moment in prayer, 
after which she would slowly open her large, lacy 
fan, and as she waved it gently to and fro, I 
could catch the faint, sweet odor of rose. Mrs. 
Carroll was a woman of culture and true refine- 
ment, a typical grande dame transplanted from her 
southern home to the wide Kansas prairies. She 
lived her quiet life, admired and honored by all 
who knew her kind and gentle heart, veiled as it 
was by a slight stateliness of manner, the natural 
result of her early education and environment. 
She, like others, had her sorrows, and bitter ones 
they were; though as a child I knew nothing of 
them. To me she was a lady out of a story-book, 
who lived an enchanted and beautiful existence, 
far removed from the ugly, humdrum cares of 
ordinary mortals. 

I hardly think any other child admired the 
ladies' fans as I did. I shall never forget them, 
nor my intense desire for one of my very own, — 



42 IMPRESSIONS OF 

a real fan that would open and close and glitter- 
ing with spangles. This was before the days of 
the cheap paper fans, and ours were plain round 
ones made of some kind of grass or straw with a 
faint, elusive fragrance that after all these years 
I can still dimly recall. They were sometimes 
embellished with a bright picture or a tiny mirror 
in the center, and the edges were usually sadly 
bitten and shabby long before the summer was 
over. 

Some of the older, more motherly ladies who 
wore dark lawn dresses and carried a flower in 
their handkerchiefs, had round fans also, but 
they were of fine palm-leaf neatly bound with 
black ribbon and had shining black handles. 

In the winter the air of the church was per- 
meated with that elusive and delightful quality 
that comes from warmth and cleanliness and the 
spicy scent of furs, recently taken from the 
depths of fragrant trunks and boxes ; and now that 
most of the fans were laid carefully away in the 
same receptacles, I transferred my affections to 
the ladies' muffs, with their dangling tassels and 
their small, enticing openings, so beautifully 
shirred about with rich brown silk or satin ; often 
with a dainty, snowy handkerchief peeping from 
its cozy shelter. I remember how proud I felt of 
mother when she appeared one cold Sunday in 
her new furs and velvet bonnet trimmed with 
rich flowers and foliage. One or two fortunate 
girls owned children's sets of light furs, but the 
greater number were well content if they could 
have the loan of their mother's once in a while 
on very special occasions. 

ij: it: ^ ^ 

Many of the ladies wore beautiful bonnets, gaily 
trimmed and with wide ribbon strings tied under 
the chin in the most captivating fashion. Waver- 
ley had no millinery store in those early days. I 
can remember the first one that was opened, and 
how foolish and unnecessary it seemed to me to 
have a whole store just for hats and bonnets and 
ribbons; and I gloomily predicted that Mrs. War- 
ren, our pioneer in that field of endeavor, would 
never sell enough of them to make a living. Our 
hats had always come from Mr. Norton's general 
store. We thought they were beautiful and if, 
perchance, they were old stock and sadly lacking 
in Fashion's requirements, we enjoyed them in 
blissful ignorance of the dreadful truth. I can 



EARLY KANSAS 43 

still remember one or two of those ancient hats. 
One of mine was a yellow straw, trimmed Vvith 
pink ribbon, and such an exquisite pink rose with 
its yellow center as natural as life, nestled cosily 
in its cluster of green leaves, with two or three 
half-opened buds. I immediately selected that 
hat from a number that father had brought home 
for mother's inspection, and the memory of that 
dainty rose has gone with me through life. 

Another summer hat recalls memories that are 
almost tragic. I was very fond of blue, but was 
considered too dark to wear it; but after much 
pleading mother finally bought me a white hat 
trimmed with pale blue ribbon and white lilies- 
of-the-valley. It was very pretty and dainty and, 
moreover, it was my first hat from a real "mil- 
liner store." With what unconcealed impatience 
I looked forward to Sunday morning that I might 
burst upon the astonished and envious gaze of 
my comrades in all the splendor of my new 
chapeau. But alas and alas! Sunday morning 
dawned cloudy and damp, and by nine o'clock, 
when the last Sunday School bell rang, I stood in 
the doorway gazing through bitter tears at a 
steady, sullen downpour of rain. Nor was that 
all ; but for five or six successive Sundays it rained 
in torrents, until my mind became so weakened 
by repeated disappointments that I do not now 
remember that I ever succeeded in wearing the 
cherished hat. 

Another hat that retains its place in mem- 
ory's mysterious niche belonged to Thirza Webb, 
whom we children called "Thursday" in good 
faith until we were half grown. This hat was 
very flat in shape and brown in color, but its 
most striking feature was a row of cylindrical, 
glass beads, an inch in length, golden-brown also 
which dangled all around the flat brim like a 
fringe. As I sat near Thirza, and as her slightest 
movement caused intense vibration among the 
beads, I never tired of watching that wonderful 
hat. Poor Thirza! She was a quiet, inoffen- 
sive child, an orphan, who lived with Mrs. White 
out in the country. Sometimes in the years that 
intervene I've had grave doubts about that hat; 
but she and I, at least, were well pleased with it 

then. 

* * * * 

The Presbyterian church also had a very in- 
teresting choir. It was composed of a half- 



44 IMPRESSIONS OF 

dozen or more elegant ladies and as many men. 
The leader, Judge Warren, was very stout and 
florid, with a broad, good-natured face set off 
by a gray moustache and iron-gray hair that 
curled, Jove-like, around his high forehead. I 
used to watch, open-mouthed, these singers as 
they glanced quickly from the book containing 
the words held in one hand, to he large note-book 
in the other, marveling greatly to hear the 
sopranos hold the high notes for an endless time, 
as it seemed, entirely undisturbed by the altos 
and bases singing their parts with great zeal and 
spirit; all finally in some inscrutable way joining 
in one triumphant finale with tremendous ef- 
fect, — after which the congregation would draw 
a long breath and come back to earth again. The 
old-time Waverley churches prided themselves 
upon their fine music as well as upon the piety 
and respectability of their respective congrega- 
tions. 

* * * * 

At infrequent intervals an Episcopal clergy- 
man from one of the larger towns nearby would 
conduct evening prayer either in the court room 
or the Presbyterian church. There were several 
families of communicants in town and country, 
and they were always present with a goodly num- 
ber of outsiders, for whatever it may be now, 
early Waverley was a church-going community. 
I think mother wanted us to see the historic ser- 
vice but she was afraid the unusual features 
might cause us to laugh, so she charged us witlj 
unwonted strictness that we must be quiet and 
not giggle nor whisper, no matter how strange 
the minister looked, and she tried to explain to 
our non-comprehending minds how he would be 
dressed. We started out, little girls of six and 
eight, very curious about this new kind of service 
and preacher we were going to see. The church 
was already well filled when we slipped quietly 
into a back seat, but the greater part of the con- 
gregation were strangers to us. There seemed to 
be an unusual silence, — not a whisper nor scarcely 
a movement among the worshippers. We noted 
with some surprise several of the townspeople 
whom we had never seen at church before. The 
platform was vacant, which was unusual, and we 
sat quietly watching the people and waiting for 
something strange and interesting, we knew not 
what. But after all of mother's coaching we 



EARLY KANSAS 45 

were totally unprepared for the startling garb of 
the tall, saintly looking man who walked alone 
up the long red-carpeted aisle and into the fami- 
liar pulpit. We gasped with astonishment and 
amusement but our desire to laugh was forgotten 
when, after a reverent pause, eloquent with 
meaning, he commenced the service by solemnly 
pronouncing those beautiful words which were in 
the far away hidden future to become very, very 
dear to us, — "The Lord is in His holy temple; let 
all the earth keep silence before Him." 



46 IMPRESSIONS OF 

Chapter The Fifth 

OLD FRIENDS 

We children were always glad when Aunt 
Nellie came to help with the work. She was a 
large, tall woman, coal-black, and with all the 
dignity and self-respect of the old-time better 
class of slaves. Her head-dress consisted of a 
bright red bandanna handkerchief intricately 
knotted, and in her ears she wore enormous gold 
hoops. She and her life-long friend, Aunt Sophia, 
liyed together in a tiny, white-washed cabin 
away down in the lower part of town, which was 
hy common consent given over almost exclusively 
to the negroes. These two old ladies were not 
related but they had lived together in the greatest 
amity for years. Both, like all the other negro 
women, went out working by the day or week at 
washing, cleaning, or any other labor their hands 
found to do. 

Aunt Sophia was a small, tidy negress, also 
very black and inclined to be much more gentle 
and religious than Aunt Nellie, who was in fact 
rather strong-minded and independent, so that 
despite our liking we stood somewhat in awe of 
her sharp black eyes and sharper tongue. 

They were all very fond of their pipes, and 
no other tobacco was ever so fragrant as that they 
used to smoke around the kitchen fire, while they 
often told us old stories of slave times as we 
watched the circling wreaths and dreaded that 
bed-time would call us away. They always said 
they smoked to cure the toothache. 

Another who sometimes worked for us was 
Aunt Chloe, who was a meek and humble soul af- 
flicted grievously with a sort of palsy that kept her 
poor old gray head in constant motion. She was 
very fond of tea, and she never wearied of telling 
us how Mrs. Palmer once treated her. She had an 
unusually hard day's work washing a "wagon bed 
full" of clothes one sultry day, and Mrs. Palmer, 
after dinner, carefully and with malice afore- 
thought, as Aunt Chloe always insisted, put the 
teapot up on a high shelf where the poor soul 
could not reach it when, in the sweltering after- 
noon, her weary limbs began to tremble and her 
head to ache for want of her accustomed stimu- 
lant. I am glad to remember that she always 
had free access to the teapot at out house, and 



EARLY KANSAS 47 

very often something to carry home with her in 
addition to her day's wages. 

A jolly old creature, not quite so lady-like as 
Aunt Sophia and Aunt Chlo,e was old Aunt 
Columbia, who could be met almost any morning 
by those who were bestirring themselves early, 
striding along to her day's work, her ebon coun- 
tenance radiating cheerfulness and good humor. 
She sometimes told us wonderful stories of how 
she reproved the delinquent darkies for their 
short-comings, and laid down the law to them; 
and often she announced with emphasis that she 
wasn't "afeard" of any of them. These stories 
of her prowess impressed us greatly at first, but 
as time wore on and we came to know her better, 
we used to discount them with a liberal grain of 
salt. She was exceedingly ignorant and once 
said to mother, "When I does just a common-sized 
washin' I cha'age six bits; but when I does an 
extry big washin', then I alius has to have my 
half-a-dollah." 

The rowdy, however, among the negro women 
was old Aunt Sue, a tall, lank, raw-boned mulatto, 
w^ho made not the slightest pretensions to gentil- 
ity, either past or present. She had probably 
spent a good part of her life as a field negro, for 
she cheerfully worked with the men at the hardest 
labor, and her tongue, if rumor was to be believed, 
was as rough and ready as any of theirs. Instead 
of walking quietly along the street, speaking re- 
spectfully in answer to the greeting of the towns- 
folk, as the other aunties did, she jocosely called 
nearly all the men in the place by their first 
names; and woe betide the unfortunate who was 
so foolhardy as to attempt to bandy repartee with 
her. She owned her own little home and, un- 
hampered by husband or conventionalities, 
brought up her family of several children by her 
own labor, as she was a very capable nurse in addi- 
tion to her other accomplishments, and her ser- 
vices were nearly always in demand. 



Among the negro men of old Waverley, the 
giant blacksmith, Rhodes, in his leather apron, 
always smiling and respectful, was a general 
favorite. 

Colonel Hamilton, a Democrat, was a candidate 
for the Legislature, and a group of men were one 
day discussing politics when Rhodes happened 



48 IMPRESSIONS OF 

along and someone inquired how he was going 
to vote, — certainly not for the Democrat. 

"Gentlemen," said the sable descendant of 
Vulcan with a smile, "I'll tell you a story. Not 
long after the war a poor negro was trudging 
along the road that lead from Missouri to Kansas. 
He was very tired and his feet were swollen and 
sore, for the pair of stiff, new boots slung over 
his shoulder pained him so he could not wear them. 
The way was long, the summer sun was hot over- 
head and the negro's heart was heavy. Presently 
he heard behind the sound of horses' hoofs and 
before long the rider galloped alongside but not 
to pass without a word, as many others had done. 
Instead, he slackened his pace and, looking earn- 
estly at the wayfarer, asked, 'Where are you going, 
boy?' The negro told his destination, and after 
some further questions the gentleman said, 'Here, 
you look tired and your feet are blistered. Do 
you get up on my horse and ride awhile, and I'll 
walk.' At this the negro, knowing his place, de- 
murred, but the good-natured stranger insisted, 
got down from his horse and trudged along be- 
hind, while the exhausted negro mounted and 
rode until he was rested and able to resume his 
tramp with a lighter heart and the assurance that 
his destination was not far away and that he was 
already sure of one friend within its borders. 
Gentlemen," concluded Rhodes, "I was that poor 
black man and the horseman was Colonel Hamil- 
ton, and now you know why. Democrat as he is, 
he will always get my vote." Good old Rhodes; 
there is something very pleasing in the memory 
of his honest black face and cheerful voice. 

Everyone, too, liked Uncle Martin, a small, 
meek-looking old gentleman whose many good 
qualities were in continual danger of being en- 
tirely obscured by the more aggressive character 
of his strong-minded spouse. Aunt Columbia, of 
militant fame. For many years he was the 
sexton of the Presbyterian church. On Sundays, 
clad in a neat but hreadbare black suit, he would 
ring the church bell with measured stroke, bowing 
respectfully meanwhile in response to the low- 
toned greetings of the incoming congregation, 
with whom he was a general favorite. This duty 
performed, he would seat himself in his corner 
near one of the doors, emerging when necessary 
to open or close the windows, or to attend to the 
two wood fires in winter; moving about so noise- 



EARLY KANSAS 49 

lessly and unobtrusively, and still so efficiently 
as to testify to the excellent training he had re- 
ceived in ante-bellum days in old Kentucky or 
Missouri. 

There was one negro whom we often saw on 
our way to school whose name was Armitage, and 
who seemed to have no family or relatives. He 
was a slender, wiry mulatto, active as a panther. 
He was more noticeable because he wore his hair, 
which was curly but not woolly, very long, and in 
his ears were huge gold rings, all of which gave 
him a strangely foreign appearance that some- 
how seemed to have a mysterious tendency to 
make one's mind wander in dreamy fashion to 
the far-away Spanish Main and the pirates bold 
who, in the olden time, sailed its sunlit waters 
with their smuggled cargoes of fragrant rum and 
molasses. He was probably part Portuguese, — 
at any rate he was an exotic, and did not remain 
many years in Waverley, disappearing at last in 
that unaccountable manner in which the human 
flotsam drifts into and out of our consciousness 
almost unnoticed. 

Our good colored people had their own corners 
in the churches, and all the older ones were, as a 
rule, found in their places on Sunday. Their 
small, white-washed cabins usually contained two 
rooms and sometimes a lean-to kitchen. The 
"front room," or parlor, had either a bare floor 
as clean as soap and water and faithful scouring 
could make it, or a gaily striped rag carpet. A 
bed occupied one corner; often there were two 
beds with large white pillows and a bright quilt 
or old-time coverlet tucked carefully beneath the 
generous "feather bed," which was the pride of 
the mother's heart. Several "splif-bottom chairs 
stood primly against the wall, and very likely 
there was a cherished bureau of black walnut sur- 
mounted by a mirror in whose surface strangely 
distorted countenances gazed into our own. The 
table usually had a white muslin cover, and on this 
stood the big glass lamp, its bowl often beautified 
by a gorgeous wad of pink or red cotton-wool im- 
mersed in the oil. At the windows were green 
paper shades with pictured borders; these shades 
were rolled up in the daytime and securely tied 
with a cord and tassels or, if the cord and tassels 
were worn out ?s often happened, a piece of string 
did duty instead. 

I count it a peculiar privilege to have known 



50 IMPRESSIONS OF 

these picturesque, old people who were wonder- 
fully interesting and attractive, especially so to 
children. A little story by way of illustration. 
Small Johnnie Hamilton was visiting his grand- 
father, who owned a number of slaves. Of course. 
Miss Fanny's little boy was made much of by the 
good-natured blacks, who seemed to know in- 
tuitively the way to a child's heart. One day 
when dinner was ready the small Johnnie failed 
to appear, and search was immediately made for 
him with considerable anxiety, as wells were deep 
and mules and horses numerous. In the midst of 
the confusion, however, Master John appeared 
at the door of one of the cabins, napkin in hand, 
and with his mouth full of food shouted to his 
relieved and worshipping mother and aunts, 
"Go on with your dinner — I'm eating with he 
niggers." 

Our better class of Waverley negroes had many 
fine qualities, and nearly all of them retained an 
abiding pride in the name and fame of their 
former masters which was very touching. They 
had no desire to break down the barriers between 
the races, for no self-respecting negro wished to 
associate Math white people on terms of equality. 
In humble fashion, as hewers of wood and drawers 
of water, they lived their quiet, useful lives among 
us, respected and befriended by all, partakers to 
a greater or lesser degree in every occasion of joy 
or sorrow among high or low. All, or nearly all, 
have long ago disappeared from the scene of their 
former activities, and with them passed forever 
a generation whose like we shall not see again. 

Sf: !{« SjC SfC 

Sometimes on a beautiful spring day, when we 
neighbor children were happily playing tag or drop 
the handkerchief in the wide, quiet street, a sudden 
half-suppressed exclamation from some startled 
youngster would cause us all to stop, look quickly 
around and behold that which made the bravest 
run precipitately for home and from that sheltered 
haven, peer out with wide frightened eyes on a 
sight many of us never forgot. Down the long hill, 
walking noiselessly in the middle of the street, 
looking neither to the right nor to the left, came a 
band of fifty or sixty stalwart Indians. They 
were arrayed in all their distinctive pageantry 
of nodding feathers, bright colored blankets, 
fringed leggins and gaily beaded moccasins. Tall 
and straight as arrows and seemingly knowing no 



EARLY KANSAS 51 

fatigue, they kept straight on their way and were 
soon lost to view around the corner of Mr. Nor- 
ton's store. Then, when the last fluttering 
blanket disappeared from our frightened but 
eager sight, we breathed freely once more and 
besieged our patient mother with all sorts of 
questions concerning them. The fear of being 
captured and carried away was always present 
with us, and we thought little Jimmie Young had 
lately had a very narrow escape. 

I now shrewdly suspect that the Indians were 
not nearly so anxious to possess our small, useless 
selves as the sorely tried and harassed mothers 
would have had us believe. However, Jimmie was 
down on the Elkhorn one spring morning gather- 
ing gooseberries from a large bush, when, on 
moving around to find a better place, he was 
almost petrified with horror to discover a tall 
Indian standing only a few feet away quietly eat- 
ing from the same bush. Poor Jimmie, who was 
only eight, stood not upon the order of his going, 
but retired at once and raced madly home, leaving 
his dusky companion in full possession. 

We were not quite so much afraid of the Indian 
squaws, for they occasionally visited the homes 
to sell their elaborate bead work and curiously 
woven baskets. True to their love for vivid 
colors, they were usually attired in bright red 
calico wrappers and frowsy shawls, their coarse, 
black hair hanging in long untidy braids. Laden 
with their wares and carrying the ubiquitous 
pappoose they trailed from house to house utterly 
oblivious, for any sign they gave, of our furtive 
glances and stealthy but determined pursuit, as 
agog with curiosity, we followed as near as we 
dared. 

The warriors or braves were much more in- 
teresting, but in early days we never saw them 
except when they marched through in state on their 
pilgrimage or embassy to the city of the Great 
Father at Washington. These were probably 
from the Kickapoo or Sac and Fox reservations 
twelve or fifteen miles away. They were fine 
looking men and with their gay blankets and 
trappings formed a picturesque procession along 
the quiet streets that seldom saw anything more 
exciting than a drunken man or a gigantic old- 
time threshing machine drawn by ten or twelve 
straining horses. 

The Kickapoos were among the most intelli- 



52 IMPRESSIONS OF 

gent and industrious of the aboriginal tribes then 
settled in Kansas. This was attributed to the 
influence of Kenekuk, the Kickapoo prophet who 
came to the territory with the tribe and founded 
a religious sect among them, teaching them so- 
briety and industry and practicing the same 
himself. 

In later years these Indians, or others, were 
induced to attend the annual county fair as an 
attraction. They came with their tunts and 
ponies, their squaws and pappooses, and were 
installed in one part of the ample grounds, where 
they attracted many visitors. The red calico 
squaws sat in the sunshine with their little ones 
or went stolidly about their simple tasks. The 
men, impassive, as usual, stood around or walked 
about smoking their pipes. None paid the 
slightest attention to the curious throng who 
constantly surrounded their tents, gazing with 
wonder, not unmixed with disgust, upon the rude 
housekeeping and the long strips of freshly 
slaughtered beef dangling from poles and drying, 
covered with flies, in the September sun. 

One of Waverley's prominent citizens, Mr. 
Douglas, had been in years gone by a plainsman 
and quite familiar with Indian languages and 
customs. With his thin, swarthy face, high 
cheekbones and the heavy dark shawl he always 
wore instead of an overcoat, he looked himself 
not unlike an Indian, a distinction of v^^hich, like 
John Randolph of Roanoke, he was very proud. 
When the red warriors on the opening day of the 
fair rode in all their richest gewgaws down the 
crowded Main street, Mr. Douglas, well mounted 
and shawled, rode by the side of the chief, as im- 
passive and distinguished as his companion. At 
the fair grounds he was often with them and even 
took part once or twice in their dances, to the 
consternation of his gay and fashionable daughters 
and their elegant city friends. Mr. Douglas was 
really a very intelligent and companionable man, 
a fine lawyer as well as an enthusiastic farmer 
and pomologist. Aside from the distinction of 
setting out the first large apple orchard near 
Waverley, he delighted in good books and taught 
his family to love them. When his eldest 
daughter Evangeline, to please him, committed 
to memory the whole of Pope's "Essay on Man," 
he presented her with a fine gold watch in token 
of his appreciation. He also encouraged her in 



J 



EARLY KANSAS 53 

the study of law, in which she was able to pass the 
usual examination. To his friendly interest in a 
young school girl's reading I owe my first intro- 
duction to the delightful "Knight of La Mancha," 
he kindly lending me his own valued copy of Don 
Quixote with an earnest recommendation of its 
humor and excellence, which, it is needless to say, 
I proved to my intense and lasting delight. 
* * * * 

A very welcom.e visitant was the annual apple 
wagon from the rich orchards of old Missouri. 
Fortunately the soil and climate of Waverley were 
such as to bring forth in rich abundance the 
kindly fruits of the earth. The beautiful blue- 
grass grew everywhere. People cut it and piled 
it in loads to take home to sod their lawns. Trees 
were of wonderfully quick growth, especially the 
maples and cottonwocds, which grew tall and 
stately in that favored clime. Along the creeks 
and river were natural groves of forest and nut- 
bearing trees, while gooseberries, blackberries and 
hazel bushes offered their tempting contributions 
to the oft-timed scanty pioneer larder. At the 
time of which I write, however, there were no 
bearing orchards and fruit was very scarce. Now 
Waverley and its vicinity excel as a fruit growing 
country, and the delightful old town is surrounded 
by flourishing orchards of cherries, apples and 
peaches, whose blossoming converts the whole re- 
gion every spring into a paradise of beauty and 
fragrance. But at the time of which I am think- 
ing there were no orchards and the lack 
of fruit was a very real privation to the pioneers 
and their children, the latter especially growing 
exceedingly tired of the tough dried apples and 
peaches, which we justly considered a miserable 
substitute and a gross libel on the name of fruit. 

No sympathetic reader then will wonder at 
our jubilation when some glorious autumn after- 
noon we beheld, creaking down upon us, a heavily 
laden wagon with its tell-tale sign, a big, rosy- 
cheeked apple, perched aloft upon a stout stick. 
"Here comes the apple wagon !" we would yell, and 
forgetting our play in the delights of anticipation 
we would rush into the house and give mother no 
peace until she presently issued forth and entered 
into negotiations with the driver, who, be it re- 
membered to his credit, often bestowed a sample 
of his delicious wares all around in advance of his 
sale. 



54 IMPRESSIONS OF 

Mothers would sometimes tell their listening 
youngsters about the lucious pears that grew so 
abundantly in the old home orchards, but many 
Kansas children never even saw that russet fruit 
until years later, and then usually in small quan- 
tities at most exorbitant prices. The soft, 
"squshy" paw-paw, with its yellow sweetness 
and coarse, black seeds, was a favorite with many, 
but it took strangers some time to learn to like it. 
An orange was considered the rarest of treats 
reserved usually for sickness or as a sufficient 
reward for unexceptionable behaviour; while in 
our part of the grassy quadrangle, at least, the 
indispensable banana of today was absolutely un- 
known. 

* * * * 

People always went to market armed with a 
basket of generous dimensions. Delivery wagons 
were unknown in Waverley, and I well remember 
my first experience with that most useful insti- 
tution. When I was about twelve I visited a city 
for the first time. My mind was full of joyful 
anticipations, tempered somewhat by the memory 
of mother's parting admonition not to stare about 
open-mouthed, nor point at anything strange, nor 
in any other way expose my rusticity to the un- 
sympathetic smiles and jeers of the scornful city 
populace. I promised with unusual docility to 
obey, and as I climbed into the buggy which was to 
convey me to the metropolis, I sturdily made up 
my small mind to conduct myself with the haughty 
and frigid decorum which is only too often the sole 
resource of the unsophisticated; and to evince 
neither fear nor astonishment, though the very 
heavens themselves should fall at my feet. 

After a long and delightful drive we found 
ourselves in the vicinity of miles and miles of 
railroad tracks lying parallel to each other, and 
many more locomotives than I suposed the world 
contained, belching forth their black smoke as 
they darted back and forward to the accompani- 
ment of clanging bells and shrieking whistles. 

Escaping from this pandemonium by the very 
skin of our teeth, as it seemed to me, we were 
presently driving along a quiet shaded street which 
abounded in the most picturesque houses, many 
of which were perched so high above the street 
that long flights of steps had been built up the 
steep incline to their very doors. As I looked 
about me with delight still tempered with dignity, 



EARLY KANSAS 55 

the city began to rise in my estimation, and I 
hoped that Mrs. Howard lived in one of those 
romantic houses overlooking the quietly busy 
thoroughfare, that I might have the pleasure of 
running up and down the steps and enjoying to 
the full such an undreamed of experience. Mrs. 
Howard's house, however, proved to be a pleasant 
farm-like place, comparatively level, and on the 
very edge of the city. 

The first afternoon she took me with her on 
a shopping tour and I enjoyed the first ride of my 
life in the old Borse-cars which were long since 
superseded by the cable and later the electrics. 
We visited the City Market where, in spite of my 
resolution to allov/ nothing to surprise me out of 
my good behavior, I stared aghast at the worlds 
of meats, poultry and vegetables displayed, and 
wondered audibly how they would ever be sold or 
eaten. Mrs. Howard made a purchase now and 
then and I finally awoke to the fact that she had 
no market-basket and neither did she carry any 
of the articles which she had selected with con- 
siderable care. My surprise increased until on. 
reaching her home several hours later, it changed 
to astonishment to find the numerous parcels safe 
and sound, nothing forgotten or omitted, and all 
arranged in good order on the kitchen table by 
modern genii in the form of delivery boys. 

'i' -I* *(• •t^ 

Sometimes on rainy days, or on the rare occa- 
sions when mother was away from home, we had 
the dear delight of rummaging, unmolested, among 
sundry trunks and boxes, which were usually 
forbidden territory. 

Among these was a fascinating little trunk 
whose interesting contents we were never weary 
of examining. It was of dark red cowhide with 
the hair left on and it was studded all over with 
bright, brass-headed nails. It was a cherished 
heir-loom which, with a real bell-metal preserving 
kettle, had been given to mother by her Virginia 
grandmother whose namesake she was. 

Inside the little trunk was a cherished collec- 
tion of quaint, old-time finery, — laces yellow from 
long disuse, queer ribbons with picot edges, dis- 
carded furs, gloves and collars of antique appear- 
ance, and an ebony casket containing a few treas- 
ured letters, delightful wedding-cards embellished 
with white doves and tied with dainty white rib- 
bons, and most interesting of all, a number of 



56 IMPRESSIONS OF 

ancient daguerrrotypes of various aunts and 
uncles whom we had never seen but of whom we 
had heard any number of interesting stories. 

In this trunk was a black taffeta gown with 
wonderful puffings ; there were fringed silk man- 
tillas and a white crepe shawl, which was to us 
the acme of beauty. There was a rich black and 
white plaid of heavy silk which would almost 
"stand alone," and another of the most exquisite 
shadings and blendings of green and gray. 

We would importune mother for stories as to 
when and where she had worn the various gar- 
ments and sometimes, but very seldom, she would 
gratify us. There was one beautiful white dress 
with sheer lacy squares which she wore about the 
year 1856, and with it a white silk shawl or per- 
haps a black silk mantilla and rich black lace 
mitts, than which there could be no more becom- 
ing adjunct to a beautiful hand. Sometimes 
mother told us about her Virginia grandmother 
who once came to visit them, bringing with her 
one special trunk full of silk dresses to be made 
over for nine or ten-year old mother and her 
younger sisters. We loved to hear those stories 
of her childhood and how she visited with this 
same grandmother an old-time Kentucky mansion 
in whose drawing-room on each side of the great 
fireplace hung the life-size portrait of an uncle 
whose eyes possessed the uncanny power of fol- 
lowing her everywhere she moved until she grew 
afraid to venture alone into the silent and stately 
room with its tall, close-shuttered windows and 
its watchful portraits. 

The brass-headed trunk seemed to have some- 
how a charm to call up reminiscences and stories 
from the long-gone past. The grandmother of 
the trunk and the portraits could write poetry, 
one fragment of which has been treasured by her 
descendants through the generations; but there 
was another grand-dame of a different mold whom 
we loved to hear about. She was a notable house- 
wife and a hard task-mistress to her servants, so 
much so, in fact, that it is said that some of them 
in their resentment bestowed upon her the 
euphonious sobriquet of "Annie Devil." We 
fancied in our unregenerate minds that this an- 
cestress might well be the more interesting of the 
two, and even now at times when the best laid 
plans come to naught, and life for the moment 
seems but a weariness of the flesh and a vexation 



EARLY KANSAS 57 

of the spirit, I wonder if perchance the sins of 
that stern old great-great grandmother are being 
visited upon the shrinking heads of her children 
unto the third and fourth generations. 

To go back to the trunk and its treasures, 
however, — Mrs. Robinson says that when she 
came west in the fifties she was much surprised 
to find in the stores of St. Louis and other western 
towns as fine and even finer dress goods than 
could be purchased in the city of Boston. She 
tells us of her surprise at finding in those far 
western stores an especially choice fabric, the 
duplicate of which a friend had just brought home 
in triumph from Paris, supposing there was noth- 
ing as fine to be had in the large cities of the 
east, to say nothing of the remote and supposedly 
half-civilized frontier of despised and maligned 
Missouri. 

H: ^ ^ H< 

Our hats and the greater part of our dry-goods 
and groceries as well came from Mr. Norton's 
big store. In this store had been from time out 
of mind the post-office, which occupied a narrow 
space in one corner. There were just two im- 
portant-looking lock-boxes, one of which belonged 
to the veteran editor of the leading paper, Mr. 
Franklin. We youngsters were very fond of 
stopping at the office on our way from school, 
and it was an impressive sight to see Mr. Franklin 
enter the store, and without even a glance at he 
autocrat who handled the mail, or a word of ex- 
planation or apology, take a key from his pocket, 
unlock his box, take therefrom an armful of mail, 
and hurry away; while we were obliged to give 
the number of our boxes, or most humiliating of 
all, wait with the best grace we could summon 
while some clerk leisurely and with an air of 
vast importance, went through the pile of letters, 
turning to us usually with the discouraging 
"There's nothing for you." 

We were so accustomed to the narrow lim.its 
of our post-office that we naturally supposed all 
others must be similar, for we of old Waverley 
held a high opinion of the importance and general 
excellence of our birthplace and its various insti- 
tutions. Mary Harper was one of us, having 
been born and reared in the same house. When 
she was about seventeen she went to visit relatives 
in a small, very new town in western Kansas. 
On going to the post-office soon after her arrival 



58 IMPRESSIONS OF 

she was almost struck dumb with astonishment 
to find that useful institution occupying the entire 
lower floor of a two-story building ail to itself, 
having no dry-goods or groceries connected with 
it. Mary declared that the five months of her 
stay had nearly elapsed before she became at all 
accustomed to what seemed to her a reckless ex- 
travagance and waste of space. 



EARLY KANSAS 59 

Chapter The Sixth 

OLD WAVERLEY SCHOOLS 

A plain wooden school building of one room 
served the youth of Waverley for about ten years, 
when the riotous children of all ages from three 
to twenty-two or three, finally overflowed its 
bounds to such an extent that the powers that 
were began to plan a new and much larger build- 
ing. This was of brick, and was erected several 
blocks away from the old one near the church and 
on the brow of a noble hill that sloped abruptly 
down at an angle that made the most splendid 
coasting. 

One bright spring day when the new edifice was 
nearly completed we children led by our proud 
and happy teacher, marched joyously past it in 
a kind of triumphal procession, singing to the 
tune of "John Brown's Body," and at the top of 
our voices, each striving valiantly to out-yell his 
neighbor, 

"Now three cheers for the new School Building, 
As we go marching on !" 

It stood tall and square and imposing on the 
brow of the hill, a decided contrast to the now 
despised school-house of our past ; and on the long 
looked-for first Monday in September we all glee- 
fully hastened to the new academy with its two 
grand stairways, its w^hite, unmarred walls, 
smooth, shining blackboards, and the fine new 
patent desks with delightful little ink-wells 
snugly ensconced therein, — and remorselessly 
abandoned the old house to its desolation and its 
memories. 

What merry crowds its shabby old roof had 
sheltered, — little boys, big boys and grown young 
men with their higher arithmetics and Latin 
grammars; young ladies, many of whom were 
aproned school girls in day time and society belles 
in the evening at party or dance; and hosts of little 
ones as young as three. The old school-house was 
so near our home that I sent myself to school at 
that tender age, and I can dimly remember the 
lesson in my beloved primer about a small boy 
named Tom, and a little girl named May and her 
faithful kid. May was shown in the picture roll- 
ing a hoop with the kid in close attendance. Roll- 
ing a hoop was the fashionable diversion among 
all the school-book girls. That little battered 



60 IMPRESSIONS OF 

primer would now be worth its weight in gold, 
as would also the second and third readers of good 
old McGuffey's series. 

I owned a spelling-book, too at a very early 
age; and I remember studying after many tire- 
some pages of uninteresting words of one syllable, 
the lesson beginning with "lady," and how proud 
I was to be in words of two syllables, — and as for 
that word lady I loved it. Small as I was, it 
looked to me just as a word with such a delightful 
meaning ought to look, and visions of feminine 
grace and beauty occupied my mind as I sat on 
the old home-made bench behind the big wood- 
stove that dominated the center of the room, while 
the busy routine of a crowded country school of 
the olden time went on unnoticed about me. 

:{: H: H: Ht 

Meantime the solitary weather-beaten old 
house in its weed-grown yard was left to itself, 
and an air of desolation and decay gradually per- 
vaded the place. One bright summer afternoon 
a group of idle children of the neighborhood were 
playing about as usual, amusing themselves by 
building play-houses in the fascinating hollows 
and gullies which abounded in that lonely part of 
town. 

Tiring at last of play, one adventurous urchin 
suggested that we invade the old school-house, 
which was immediately done, the battered door 
with its broken knob and gaping key-hole offer- 
ing little resistance. 

Curiously we stared about the forsaken semi- 
nary. The interior was cheerless and desolate 
in the extreme, and filled with that uncanny odor 
peculiar to old, abandoned houses. The plaster 
had fallen from walls and ceiling and lay in for- 
lorn heaps on the splintered floor and the broken 
and overturned benches and desks, which were 
further litered with torn and dirty school-books, 
empty ink bottles and broken and frameless slates. 

On the floor around the long demolished rusty 
stove were ashes, old sheep-skin erasers and the 
stumps of two or three ancient brooms. A bat- 
tered tin water bucket and a broken chair or two 
decorated the corner nearest the door. The home- 
made desks and seats were rudely carved and 
otherwise defaced by innumerable jack-knives and 
branded with the names and initials of their former 
tenants. The plaster blackboard was full of holes, 
exposing the grinning laths and the frail 



EARLY KANSAS 61 

weather-boarding- beyond; while through the tall, 
staring west windows, bereft alike of glass and 
sash, streamed the afternoon sun in broad bands 
of light on the dust-laden floor. 

After looking around in a desultory sort of 
way, we began to search diligently among the 
ruins for we knew not what, until at last Rosa 
Meade secured a treasure in the form of a tat- 
tered and torn McGuffey's Fifth Reader; and as 
the member of the party who could come nearest 
to pronouncing most of the words, the fragment 
was handed to me and I was forthwith com- 
manded to read aloud. Accordingly we all seated 
ourselves with a sublime indifference to the wel- 
fare of our clothing on the broken platform 
around the ruins of what had once been the 
teacher's desk, and after looking carefully through 
the pages I began to read a poem which I had 
heard the older pupils read in school, and which 
possessed a wonderful fascination through its 
very excess of horror. 

"If you ever should come to Modena," it 
began in a delightfully friendly and confidential 
manner, as though our going to Modena were the 
most natural and likely thing in the world. I suc- 
ceeded in getting past "Reggio" without much 
ado, and then floundered between the Scylla of 
"Donati" on one side and the dreadful Charybdis 
of "Zampieri" on the other, but after they were 
left behind I had comparatively smooth sailing. 
The room was very still, and I was reading amid 
the breathless attention of my audience those 

portentous words, — I quote from memory 

"Full fifty years were past and all forgotten. 

When on an idle day, a day of search 

'Mid the old lumber in the gallery 

That mouldering chest was noticed, and 'twas 

said 
By one as young, as thoughtless as Ginevra, 
'Why not remove it from its lurking place?' 
'Twas done as soon as said, but on the way it 

burst, — 
It fell, — and lo! a skeleton!" 

"Hush !" came in a terrified whisper from 
Rosa, "What was that?" A loose board blown by 
the wind; or was it a skurrying rat from the 
near-by granary? The sound broke in upon our 
excited nerves like the crack of doom. Flinging 
the book I knew not where, we all with one accord, 
moved by an unreasoning terror, rushed headlong 



62 IMPRESSIONS OF 

from the house, piercing the drowsy afternoon 
with our screams. Even now I never read or 
hear of "Ginevra" without a slight tingling of 
the nerves as I recall that summer day episode in 
the abandoned school-house, whose crumbling 
walls had that day sheltered us for the last time. 
* * * * 

In the fine new school-house "Professor" 
Stone held the reins of government, assisted by 
two young ladies, Miss Brown and Miss Ham- 
mond. Miss Brown was our teacher. She had 
beautiful hands, dainty and soft and adorned with 
rings, while her gold watch chain bore a number 
of ornaments, among which an exquisite minia- 
ture teapot eclipsed even the watch in our loving 
admiration. 

Like Elizabeth of the German Garden we sud- 
denly became aware of the grimy appearance of 
our own small paws, though hardly in our case to 
the detriment of our souls; and we soon made a 
vast improvement in that respect, for a pretty 
young lady teacher was a novelty to us who had 
hitherto been almost exclusively under the stern 
tutelage of bearded men, and all her pleasant ways 
and stylish clothes were closely observed. 

We, too, began to long for adornment, and 
Clara White became the cynosure of our envious 
eyes, having succeeded in coaxing from her 
mother the loan of two or three plain gold rings, 
which were, however, so much too large that she 
was obliged to submit to the humiliation of keep- 
ing them in place by a paltry bead ring of home 
manufacture. These bead rings were very popu- 
lar with those of us who had no others and the 
prettiest had a larger red or blue bead for a set. 
Somewhat allied to the bead rings were the "charm 
strings" of odd and pretty buttons in which our 
souls delighted. We sometimes begged the mer- 
chants for their odds and ends of suitable buttons, 
often making ourselves nuisances no doubt. 

To keep their hands white and soft many of 
the girls wore morocco "half-hands," which cov- 
ered the hands but left the fingers free to use 
pencil or crayon. They were nicely pinked 
around the edges and at sixty or seventy-five cents 
a pair helped to enrich the coffers of the village 
harness-maker. 

One pleasant custom we had which was quite in 
line with modern thought was that of dancing 
quadrilles at noon and recess in the large unfin- 



EARLY KANSAS 63 

ished upper hall. This was introduced by the 
older girls and was such fascinating pastime that 
it quite overshadowed for a while our old games 
of "drop the handkerchief," "King Wilham," 
"black man" and "whip-crack." The last was so 
rough that after several accidents it was sternly 
forbidden by the principal. 

One summer two young ladies conducted sep- 
arate schools in Waverley, each teacher with her 
flock occupying one of the lower rooms in the 
new building. Whether these teachers were 
friends or foes I cannot say, but I well remember 
that the pupils of both were in a continual quarrel., 
We had our recesses at different times and Miss 
Jones' pupils would at their play time pound on 
our door apparently without rebuke or hindrance 
from her. At last one joyous day. Miss Warren, 
our teacher, on dismissing us for recess, said 
smilingly, "Now, children, you may return the 
compliment," and no hint was ever more quickly 
taken. With unholy glee we galloped down the 
hall and belabored the enemy's quarters without 
mercy, pounding the heavy door until it was a 
wonder we did not break it in. The only other 
recollection I have of this school is of receiving a 
prize for the most headmarks in spelling, and of 
my intense disappointment at being given a book 
about "The Environs of Jerusalem" instead of the 
interesting story-book I had fondly hoped for. 
* * * * 

The new school-house soon became a part of 
our daily life so that it, too, has its precious mem- 
ories of auld lang syne. Just across the wide, 
quiet street was the peaceful, gray church with its 
grassy yard and waving trees. The grass was 
allowed to grow tall and rank, for the day of the 
lawn-mower had not yet dawned on Waverley. 

Often we girls, whom the swift-flying years 
had now transformed in our turn into the "big 
girls," and who had about given up our childish 
romping, — often we would wander at noon or re- 
cess into those classic environs remote from rude 
encroachment to indulge in the confidential talks 
so dear to feminine hearts, whether young or oldf. 
Here one lovely October day, when the mellow 
haze of the Indian summer rested like a benedic- 
tion over glowing hill and dale, Orella Moore and 
I took our dinner-pails and ensconcing ourselves 
comfortably on a cushion of thick, springy grass 
in the delicious sunshine leisurely discussed our 



64 IMPRESSIONS OF 

lunch and then fell to talking of people and places 
she had seen. Orella had traveled around a good 
deal with her parents before they finally settled 
down near Waverley, and her bright descriptions 
of their various wanderings were delightful in- 
deed to us stay-at-homes, most of whom had been 
born in good old Waverley and knew the great 
outside world only by the merest hearsay. 

After some unimportant, fragmentary conver- 
sation, Orella remarked rather suddenly, "We 
used to live in a house in Virginia where George 
Washington had lived," This startling statement 
interested me at once and I immediately began to 
ply her with questions. She said that the house 
was a large and stately mansion, but to my intense 
disappointment she could not remember distinctly 
the features of the place as she was very young 
when they occupied it. On thing, however, she 
had not forgotten — the beautiful ceilings, elabor- 
ately decorated with all kinds of birds and flowers 
reproduced thereon. We talked upon this fascin- 
ating subject, or rather she talked and I listened 
and questioned until the unwelcome clangor of the 
big bell summoned us reluctant back to school. 
This strange and totally unexpected association 
of Orella with the distant haunts of the father of 
our country so impressed me that I never forgot 
the conversation and the wonderful pictured ceil- 
ings. 

Years passed, we grew up and separated, — 
and long after among the charming books that 
helped to while away a summer vacation in the 
mountains, I ran across an interesting article on 
Kenmore, the home of Washington's sister, Mis- 
tress Betty Lewis. Gradually, a sort of vague, 
shadow}^ reminiscence seemed to float, as it were, 
mistily into my mind, as of something heard long 
before as in a dream, and then the thought, "Why, 
this must be the very house Orella Moore was trj^- 
ing to describe to me that day in the church-yard." 
The thought once entertained, like Banquo's 
ghost, would not down, and the desire to settle this 
tantalizing question became so insistent that I 
finally wrote to Virginia, though with but faint 
hopes of learning anything definite after so long 
a time. 

I had just about despaired of an answer to my 
inquiry, when to my delight I received a very 
cordial and interesting letter from the owner of 
the place giving me the wished-for information. 



EARLY KANSAS 65 

My surmise was correct, — some thirty or more 
years previous a Northern family had occupied 
historic Kenmore for a few years, their rather 
unusual ways and methods having attracted in 
that staid old community sufficient attention to 
insure their being remembered. The charming 
chatelaine of Kenmore also sent me some fine 
photographs of the place, which are highly prized 
and which show one of the famous ceilings which 
cost the poor British soldier his life. To be sure 
Washington never lived at Kenmore, but was 
doubtless often a visitor to his only sister, and 
his venerable mother after declining repeated in- 
vitations to make her home with Mrs. Lewis, 
finally died in one of its spacious chambers. How 
passing strange it seems that there should be ever 
so slight a connecting link between the little, bright- 
faced school-girl in that grassy, wind-swept Kan- 
sas churchyard so long ago, and the stately Vir- 
ginia mansion of Washington's only sister, but 
even so they are forever joined together in my 
memory. 



66 IMPRESSIONS OF 

Chapter The Seventh 

"FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD'S 
IGNOBLE STRIFE." 

A great many of the Waverley people made no 
secret of the fact that they thought the Moores 
were very peculiar. Originally from the far East 
they had after many years of wanderings through 
different parts of the United States at last settled 
down in the outskirts of our little Western town 
where they bought a good-sized farm, which they 
planted mostly in fruit. Here they built a tall, 
forbidding looking house which, like its inmates, 
was exceedingly odd and totally unlike any other, 
either great or small, in the neighborhood. 
Even while it was still new it had a lonely, half- 
deserted look with its windowless gable toward 
the avenue, the entrances all being on the side. 
It was full of mysterious closets in the most un- 
expected places, and queer little recesses and cub- 
boards in the walls and stairway, very interesting 
and delightful in broad daylight, but fearful in- 
deed to contemplate when darkness came. I often 
visited the Moores for they were kind and hospit- 
able and I liked them in spite of, or perhaps it was 
because of, their odd ways, but I would not have 
stayed all night there, as I often did with the other 
girls, for anything they could offer. 

Their large parlor with its old-fashioned sofas 
and tables had an antiquated look, not at all un- 
pleasing, and on the walls were several ancient 
pictures, — one of a woman whose dark eyes fol- 
lowed me everywhere I turned with a haunting 
persistency that was most uncanny; and that 
served better than words to explain mother's 
childish fear of the watchful uncles at which I 
had formerly wandered. I never learned anything 
of the original of the painting but I still remem- 
ber the penetrating red-brown eyes with their 
sinister and baffling expression. 

Mrs. Moore was a small active woman with a 
nervous, hurried manner, that somehow gave one 
the impression that she was always out of breath. 
She possessed one distinction exceedingly rare in 
old Waverley, — she was a graduate of an Eastern 
seminary. I remember Orella once reading to a 
group of interested school-girls, most of whom had 
never seen a real live graduate — magic word — 
her mother's discolored commencement essay with 



EARLY KANSAS 67 

its faded time-worn blue ribbon. We all thought 
it a wonderful production and some of us rather 
envied Orella the unique possession of a valedic- 
torial mother; but at the same time it required a 
strong effort of the imagination to picture faded, 
middle-aged Mrs. Moore in her rich but anti- 
quated silks as one of a bevy of bright-eyed school- 
girls in dainty white Swisses and blue ribbons. 

However, Orella, who seemed to love her 
mother devotedly, once showed me an old daguer- 
reotype which revealed a beautiful, proud girl 
with clear dark eyes and a broad, low forehead 
shaded by rich waves of cloudy hair; — dressed in 
shimmering silk and lace, while long, black silk 
mitts covered the slender hands and arms. The 
picture, which was strikingly modern, expressed 
youth, beauty and pride with a certain clear-eyed 
purity ; all a startling contrast to the Mrs. Moore 
of the present, who just then appeared in the door- 
way from some homely task, changed so sadly by 
age and toil and care from her radiant, sheltered 
girlhood. 

A crowd of us were once merrily talking of 
the rich and famous men we expected to marry 
and such idle chatter, when she suddenly said with 
much earnestness, "You think too much of 
money," adding with an effort, "I married a man 
whom I could not look in the face, — because he 
was rich." Poor Mr. Moore with his gray hair 
and silence — perhaps life had cheated him too — 
he never said, but one autumn day he went out 
from Waverley and was never heard of after- 
ward. 

* * * * 

Their house was literally running over with 
books and old magazines, and they were very gen- 
erous about lending them. Orella would some- 
times bring an especially interesting book to 
school and I would joyfully smuggle it into the 
house and spend my evenings poring over its en- 
chanted pages to the great detriment of my eyes 
and my Latin, which was the first recitation in 
the morning. I can still see some of those old 
books and remember well the happy hours I 
passed with them for my companions. There 
was "Les Miserables," in which the pathetic story 
of Fantine and poor, little Cosette and the un- 
speakable Jondrettes had to be picked out piece- 
meal from the interminable pages of dull politics 
or duller speculation. Another favorite which I 



68 IMPRESSIONS OF 

read and re-read was George Sand's "Consuelo" 
and "Countess of Rudolstadt," with their medieval 
setting of gloomy German castles and dark-eyed, 
romantic noblemen, the impish Zdenko and fright- 
ful subterranean passages leading no one knew 
whither; both books abounding in mysteries, per- 
ilous adventures and hair-breadth escapes, enough 
for half a dozen novels of these degenerate days. 

Then there were some of Wilkie Collins's 
novels of mystery and Poe's exquisite poems and 
weird prose tales, among which "The Gold Bug" 
and "The Fall of the House of Usher" lingered 
longest in the memory. 

One shabby book with a faded, dull-brown 
cover, contained the old-fashioned, pathetic story 
of the beautiful, unfortunate "Eliza Wharton or 
The Coquette," which though then but dimly un- 
derstood, was certainly enough to drive all 
thoughts of coquetry forevermore from the mind 
of the most incorrigible flirt. 

It was also in some book of theirs that I came 
across the strangely prophetic poem in which 
William Cullen Bryant expressed the wish that it 
might be in the month of leafy June 

"The sexton's hand my grave to make 
The rich green forest turf should break." 
Its melody haunted me and I committed the beau- 
tiful lines to memory. I often wondered if the 
wish so exquisitely told would be granted, and 
so was not a little impressed when the daily papers 
about the middle of June, 1878, chronicled the 
great poet's sudden death in New York. 

Perhaps it is not to be wondered at that Orella 
and I finally tried our hands at novel-writing. 
We wrote diligently at home when we should have 
been learning our neglected lessons, and then read 
our productions aloud to each other at noon and 
recess in the seclusion of the beloved church yard. 
My story, at least, accomplished some good in 
this weary world but in scarcely the manner I ex- 
pected when I wrote it. Years after, one dull 
winter evening, the landlady of the hotel where 
I was living was suffering with a severe head- 
ache. The pilgrims who for a short time and a 
Hberal compensation had condescended to super- 
vise the culinary department, were about to move 
on to new and untried scenes, and Mrs. Marshall 
was a prey to gloomy despair added to the tor- 
tures of illness. Some vagrant word or sugges- 
tion brought to my mind that childish story and 



EARLY KANSAS 69 

I began to relate it in all its various amplifica- 
tions. The scene began in an old rambling Eng- 
lish castle on the rocky coast of Devonshire over- 
hanging the ocean, as Sir Walter has described 
Tantallon, and the never ceasing roar and surge 
of the restless waves formed an imposing back- 
ground for the scenes of love and jealousy that 
took place within its gloomy stone walls. 

Later on the interest shifted to an abandoned 
French chateau, and lastly to London where a 
convenient murder or two served to rid the dis- 
tracted author of a number of superflous char- 
acters, and left the heroine (myself) in trium- 
phant possession of the stage. 

Mrs. Marshall laughed so heartily as the 
absurd parody was related that her husband 
heard her where he sat among the loungers in the 
office, and hurried in the parlor to learn the 
meaning of our hilarity. "I haven't heard Mary 
laugh like that for ten years," he said as he 
chucked her under the chin; — and she declared 
that her headache was entirely cured — that I had 
charmed it away with my marvelous romance. 



"Come to see us," said Mrs. Moore one snowy 
January day when I met her in the street. She 
was an odd figure in her long woolen cloak and 
close-fitting, knitted hood, such as no one else 
wore. I thought of the beautiful daguerrotype 
as she repeated in her strange, insistent manner, 
"Come to see us. We have warmth and light and 
books and music, and we shall be glad to share 
them with you." 

I did not go that winter, being away from 
home much of the time, but one delicious sum- 
mer afternoon when the balmy air was full of 
drowsy murmurs and redolent with sweet scents, 
sister and I strolled leisurely out along the grassy 
avenue to pass an hour or two among the grape- 
vines and roses. The time flew fast in pleasant 
conversation and in listening to Orella's music 
taugt her by her mother; and when we at last 
rose to go all insisted so earnestly on our staying 
for supper that we finally consented. And such a 
supper as it was. The round tea table was spread 
with the finest and whitest of damask; the old- 
fashioned silver glittered in the rays of the west- 
ern sun, and the ancestral china with its decora- 
tions of dainty moss rosebuds was of eggshell 



70 IMPRESSIONS OF 

thinness and delicacy, rivalling the living roses in 
the cut-glass vases. 

The viands were in keeping; — tender chicken 
delicately browned, flaky biscuit with golden 
butter, and fragrant tea with the richest cream; 
these with various translucent preserves and 
jellies made a most delicious repast to which our 
appetites did ample justice. 

There is something in the memory of this 
dainty yet bountiful meal — perhaps as much as 
anything a sort of intangible resemblance between 
the hosts of each, that continually brings to mind 
that most delightful of all recorded breakfasts — 
the morning scene in the old house of the seven 
gables, where the gaunt spinster, Hepzibah, and 
the sorely stricken Clifford, with the little bright- 
faced country cousin, sit down in the ancient, oak- 
panelled breakfast parlor beneath the frowning 
gaze of their stern Puritan ancestor to the ap- 
petizing broiled mackerel, with which poor 
Hepzibah achieved such a culinary triumph; the 
fragrant Mocha coffee worth its weight in gold, 
Phebe's delicious golden corn cake made from her 
mother's cherished recipe, and enriched by her 
freshly churned country butter redolent of the 
sweep of summer breezes across wide fields of 
clover. Nor must I omit to mention the exquisite 
fragrance of the dewy rose, the balmy breath of 
the early breeze stealing gently through the open 
window, and the golden beam of morning sun- 
light falling athwart the table like a heavenly 

benediction. 

* * * * 

I can close my eyes and see once more the 
crowded afternoon Sunday School in the dear old 
church. The superintendent and the long suffer- 
ing teachers are intent upon the lesson and its 
exposition. Each class is well filled with girls 
and boys, — the former dimpling and fluttering in 
all the finery they can muster, from fifteen year- 
old Kate Barnes' lace handkerchief and Mary 
Warren's little black velvet jacket, of which we 
were all secretly envious, to Orella Moore's shim- 
mering silk and brown kid gloves. 

Myra sits by my side, — Myra who is only 
thirteen and a beauty — her clear blue eyes spark- 
ling with fun and mischief, her rich red-brown 
curls tossed carelessly back from her smooth, 
white forehead, her dainty French kid boots peep- 
ing from the edge of her blue cashmere skirt. 



EARLY KANSAS 71 

Outside the snow of a real December lies cold and 
wide, and touched with a faint, chilly glow as the 
wintry sun sinks toward the western sky, but in 
the church all is warmth and faint fragrance and 
subdued though busy murmur. Our attention 
wanders now and then from our Berean lesson 
leaves, for Christmas is close at hand and the 
boys who have been away at school or at work 
are home for the holidays. After the lesson is 
over and reviewed by the superintendent, the 
older members discuss various plans for the 
Christmas Sunday School festivities, while we 
with many giggles and glances of carefully 
studied indifference in the direction of the boys' 
class, consult together and lay our plans for 
divers parties and other gayeties, not forgetting 
the annual Christmas ball given by the Masons in 
their large hall, and which all the elite, both young 
and old, were expected to attend. 

The older members decide at last, to the joy 
of all, that we shall have a Christmas tree. The 
secretary, a tall, sweet-faced girl with masses of 
soft brown hair, moves quickly from class to class 
jotting down with her little gold pencil the 
records of attendance and contribution. Mary 
Patterson, another brown-haired schoolmate, pre- 
sides at the organ. The whispered consultations 
cease as the signal is given for all to rise. The 
song that was sung in closing that wintry day 
still comes echoing downward "through the slant- 
ing years, the stronger for the distance." The 
boys and girls of thirteen and fourteen who 
heard its melody are scattered far and wide, and 
many, the gayest and the loveliest, have long ere 
this proved its truth. Again and yet again the 
words repeat themselves and with ttiem comes the 
pleasant picture of youth and care-free happiness 
as the fresh young voices ring clearly forth in the 
strangely prophetic song and refrain : 
"There's a chorus ever sweet, 
And its echo rolls along 

Where the pure and holy meet 
In the land of love and song. 

Over yonder, over yonder. 

Hear the glad and joyful strain, 

Hallelujah! Hallelujah! 

To the lamb for sinners slain." 



72 IMPRESSIONS OF EARLY KANSAS 

Beneath the frowning, gray walls of an ancient 
castle across the sea is an old-time garden. With- 
in its charmed enclosure the curious sight-seer 
may wander at will, delighting his soul in the 
beauty and fragrance of roses and lillies, gilly- 
flowers and eglantine ; or resting in the sheltering 
embrace of a broken and rustic seat idly fall to 
dreaming of the pictures of the past which the 
surroundings are well calculated to inspire; 
peopling the winding paths and verdant bowers 
with the dainty highborn dames and noble lords 
who in days long flown held here their pomp 
and revelry. 

In an open space nearly hidden by masses of 
low shrubs and clinging vines, is a quaint, old 
sun-dial around whose broken and time-worn rim 
the observ'ant eye may still trace the half ob- 
literated classic legend, "Horas non numere nisi 
Serenas," which is, being interpreted, "I record 
none but hours of sunshine." 



THE GRIT PRINTERY. WICHITA, KANSAS 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



IniIImiIiIiiIIiNiiii ||i ||||| |||| \ 

011 023 686 4 



